A CONVERSATION WITH GOD

A CONVERSATION WITH GOD

"Hello, God. Are you there? I need to talk to you." Silence. I hear the sound
of nothing until suddenly a voice booms out, "I'm here. What is it you wish
to talk to me about, my child?"

"I can't see you. Can you come a little closer, please?" The Voice, unnmistakably
sonorous seems to be coming from everywhere and I sort of take a backward step
being careful not to step back into an abyss from which there may be no return.
"I'm terribly busy right now, can it wait?"

"Well, actually, uh--no," I whisper back. "Uh, uh--I'm not alone. I brought
Gabriel with me." I'm gaining strength in that knowledge. "Uh, I'm here to
sue you."

The Voice lets out something akin to a clash of thunder, "Sue me? Did you say,
"sue me?"

"Well actually, I did say that alright. Gabriel here is carrying a Writ of
Habeus Corpus to serve upon you, God."

"GABRIEL? Which Gabriel are you talking about?" I'm guessing that we now have
his full attention. "Surely you don't mean my Gabriel?"

"Uh huh. The same. The winged one. Michael didn't want any part of this, so I
enveigled Gabriel to stand in for him. Gabriel delivers the Writ into the hands
of God while I stand there shuffling my feet which have developed an awful and
sudden itchy feeling. I stare blankly straight ahead me looking neither up nor
down nor side to side.

The Voice falls silent for a moment and then brightly asks what I'd hoped he'd
ask, "Why are you suing me?"

Somehow he doesn't look quite as I might have imagined, he's a lot shorter than
I thought, not much taller than I am which is saying a lot. He certainly doesn't
have a long flowing white beard, or long shoulder length hair. I don't think he
eats much either, he appears thinner and more fragile, maybe even a little
vulnerable, all things considered, as I cannot help but lift my face towards
The Voice which is now coming straight in front of me.

I squint to protect my eyes from the blinding white light of his presence. I can't
find a trace of wrinkle anywhere. Those paintings? They have it all wrong. I had
thought he would be old and crinkly and instead he looks decidedly ageless. But
the eyes. That's all there is to him. Eyes. Like water over the finest cut
diamonds any earthly humanoid ever uncovered. They are unhooded, and fathomless
in their depth.

He wasn't so much looking at me as through me as if I were the apparition.
Gabriel nudges me in the ribs. I'd almost forgotten what we came for.

"Yes, well, I'm suing you--uh--ahem--on behalf of all of us mortals who
labour on down on earth."

"WRIT?" The Voice booms back. "Writ? I don't know anything about "Writs", only
about 'It Is Written". I gave you a lot of those. Didn't you read them?"

"That's the problem," I continue patiently. There are too many of them. And
now everybody is fighting with everybody else something fierce. They contain
nothing but a lot of "Thou Shalt Nots". What were you thinking when you wrote
all of those?"

I see that God is looking somewhat pensive, so I continue. "Couldn't you have
written more "Thou Shalts" instead? Put more positives into your orders?
They are so negative."

"There might be something to what you say," The Voice softens. "But is that
reason enough to sue me?" he asks. "Give me a for instance..."

I don't miss a beat, Gabriel is rolling his eyes so far back I can only see
their whites, I catch him by his sleeve before he faints, "Yes, well it's about
Noah; you know, The Flood...", I trail off.

"That was a long time ago." The Voice bounces back at me. "Surely you must
have read your history. I didn't mean to go overboard. But in the end it was
all to the good, wouldn't you say?"

"I wouldn't," I replied flatly, "but are you designing to do it all over again?
I mean The Flood thing? Have you seen the weather we've been having down on earth?
It's beginning to look like deja vu all over again. It's god-awful, if you'll
pardon the expression." I offer.

"I think I have to go now, my child. These are very weighty issues." The Voice
is receding...

"Now just hang on a minute, I'm not nearly done yet. I've only just begun. What
about the children? Don't you love your children down on earth?" I think I've got
him on a touchy subject. I know how much he loves little children.

God let's out the longest, most tired sigh I've ever heard echo anywhere at any time.
"Ah, yes. I know. The children...." He gets a faraway look in his eyes. But he is
listening intently to some distant memory.

I persist, "Millions upon millions of little children everywhere on earth are sick,
starving, motherless, fatherless, homeless, and dying like flies all over the place.
Isn't there something you can do about them? I mean we're already dealing with
Tsunamis, and earthquakes, and the weather everywhere has is totally out of control.
People everywhere are dying from disease and starvation because of this crazy climate
we are experiencing. That's why I'm thinking that maybe it's by your Design. That
you have some Plan and it isn't looking at all good. That's why I mentioned Noah and
The Flood. But the children, that's a whole other matter and there's no one to speak
for them. There's such a feeling of hopelessness down on earth. Your people are
warring with each other and it's awfully scary, they don't seem to be thinking of
the children at all. Doesn't that bother you?" I'm now all over the place with this
and I don't think he'll do anything about any of it unless I launch my Class Action
Suit and at least get him to show Cause as to why he has chosen to mismanage his
creation down on earth.

God is thinking deeply on what I have just said, "Yes. I hear you," he responds gravely,
"It makes me feel very sad too. It's not at all the way I planned it, not at all."

The Voice is so soft now that I have to strain to hear him. "Is there anything else
you want to say right now or can we take these very serious matters up later while
I study your Writ in greater detail? We can talk again - soon. Soon..."

The Voice trails off and suddenly he is gone.

Gabriel nods his head towards me and whispers in my ear, "I think it's time we go.
We can come back another time."

Thus ended my first conversation with God as it had begun.

ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?

Well, here we are on a Saturday morning and not even the birds are up.

It does strike me as somewhat peculiar around here that nobody ever seems to rise and shine early mornings on the week-ends, which just happens to suit me perfectly. I have an extraordinary appreciation for the "quiet times" when I sometimes believe that I am living next door to a cemetery.

We've had breakfast, and gone walkies hours ago, and about the only things we encountered were a few noisy Starlings who are a noisy bunch at the best of times, along with a couple of foraging squirrels no doubt doing their Saturday morning shopping for those family members who haven't left home quite yet. It's really all very pleasant.

I can easily envision myself behind a cloistered wall in a Benedictine Monastery, for nuns. But then there's that perpetual Vow of Silence. That would definitely do me in in short order. The poverty vow, I can handle. Silence...

It's that cold, crisp silence of an Autumn day, or night, that I love so much about the season we are in. It's just cold enough that I can break out into a brisk, albeit short, run--without breaking into a sweat. At the proper time if I time it just right, and we get away from sleepy people in their sleepy houses with their sleepy blinds and curtains drawn, we experience the ultimate early morning joy of hearing the fly-by of the Canada Geese in their crazy formations with their familiar haunting sounds that echo across the early morning sky, forming large groups of as many as five-hundred at a time, until the next group arrives maybe twenty minutes later, and on it goes until there are none left to watch.

It's in these very early morning walks, alone with my dog, that I feel not only good to be alive, but fabulously wealthy.

Fabulously - wealthy!

WHEN TOMORROW DOESN'T ARRIVE

Oh brother! The slower I go, the slower I arrive at-- nothing.

Laddie has finally given up asking questions about "stuff" and has left the office to go in search of something a little more challenging than watching me tangle with my decided lack of savvy in these matters.

The last I heard was a couple of hours ago when he suggested that he might just pop in on his friend, Melancholy Bob over at Writing Off The Wall, where he figured he might talk to Bob and ask him for some guidance for his handler. That being me. I have to admit, he is one smart dog.

Between them they probably will have something cooked up for the next time we get back to advancing the cause. Wouldn't be at all surprised if he came back with a few intelligent Whippet style answers.

There's always tomorrow, eh?