conversations with god

it’s always that one word, that one moment, that one feeling that brings me back to my crib.

conversations with god. the words sank into my soul as instantly as they vanished from the page a moment after flaring up. i tried to find them again, to recall their context in the text i was reading but they were not there anymore. it doesn’t matter, i know it was destiny prompting me to do something about my fading soul.

i have been clearly avoiding the topic. in february i asked god to drown everything in snow so that everything can stop and restart again but i have not expected it to happen so fast or so naturally. he chose the most merciful path, really, if we look at it that way. he could have chosen something much much worse, in fact, this pandemic masquarade really doesn’t qualify for a proper reset, if for any kind of reset. just some smoke and mirrors to stir up the peace.

i am overdue for a conversation, if not for several. but i am scared to climb out of my sweet oblivion. only at times, when i fixate on the moving hand of the wall clock and follow it’s walk round and round through many minutes, along with the clicks of acknowledgement of each second it passes, only when i start to be aware of the unidirectional nature of this movement, that i can’t stop it, slow it or turn it back, only then i feel the defeat of my own resistance to such conversations. he sits on the hand of the clock. he holds the walls of my room together and he keeps my blood flowing in the right direction. he knows oh so well what’s going on and laughs at my fear.

we are getting closer and closer and it chokes me up. i want to run but my legs are suddenly made of lead. i don’t want it. i feel like a small animal hopelessly cornered by its predator. i don’t want him. i avoid him. what are you afraid of, he finally says. and my soul stops running. i am not yet ready to surrender but i know it’s imminent. just as he said about that memorable and heavily contested moment when i finally let him lay his hands on me, that he did not convince me to make love with him. he just held my hand as i walked through the door to being honest to myself. it still sends me chills through my spine. not so much the memory of making love, but how this statement made me feel in retrospective.

what are you afraid of, he asks again, knowing well that i don’t have the answer. but he still plays with me. fine, then let’s have a conversation. why did you listen to me in february, i asked. – i didn’t listen to you. you just guessed my next move, – and he says this with a smirk. the player. – what do you want to know, he asks. and i become very very vulnerable at that moment. – everything. i want to know everything, how you started it all, why you started it and where you’re going with this. – these are silly questions, you realize, right? – why? because there is no answer to it or because i couldn’t understand it anyways? – he looks at me long and with a shade a pity. – what is the one thing – if you were given the choice to keep only one thing, one concept, one word, that connects me to the world, that connects you to the world, that connects you to me, only one, what would that be. you could look at it as last chance. last word before dying. if the world was stripped by everything that is good, and there was absolutely nothing left, and you could keep one thing only. what is it. – and he did it again. he slashed me with just a few words. with one question. or a few. but kept it simple and short. he knows what my answer is, and he knows i don’t want to say it. he knows that is where my fear lies.

he smiles and gets up. we are not finished, you know that, right? we just got started and have much much to talk about, much to make up for all those long and dark years. we are just merely taking a break. for now. and he slowly leaves while I’m torn between a sense of relief and a desire to continue. but he won’t be going far, i know it, and i am looking forward to the next conversation.

Author: thelastdestination

“The closer you come to knowing that you alone create the world of your experience, the more vital it becomes for you to discover just who is doing the creating.” - Eric Micha'el Leventhal “Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” - Albert Einstein _________________________________ A little piece of my illusion, my reality. Some of my posts are reality and some are fiction, but regardless, they are my own reality. Writing is when I get intimate with my spiritual and intellectual self. And as in any type of intimacy, there is exploring, experimentation and constant discoveries that aim to elevate the pleasures associated with it. Getting in touch with myself again, after years of self-oblivion and denial was unknowingly inspired by a friend and fellow writer. Thank You.

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