Tuesday, September 11, 2001

Arguing with God and Winning

I went to church today, during my lunch hour, and sat in a pew not too far from the front of the altar. I stared up at the cross, noticed the red draping hanging behind it. Jesus’ eyes stand out better that way, I suppose. I took a deep breath, and what happened next, I can only say was not only unexpected, it was a date.

“So, what do you make of this?” I asked, staring at the cross. A figure sat next to me as I ended my question. A deep sigh, and I turned to my left, and there sat God. Shape-shifting until he/she met my perception of what God is, the blur settled into the form of a woman who looked like she just baked a million cookies. I even think there was cookie dough under her nails.

“Girl,” she said, “this is one fucked up incident.” Yes, God cusses. “I mean, I thought everything was cool, we got some peaceful activities, but, man, I can’t even talk.” God wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and a small smear of flour appeared on her/his forehead.

“No kidding.” I shifted in my seat. I stared up at the ceiling. “Lots of people died. I don’t even know anyone who died, or at least I think I didn’t, and I’m kinda torn up about this whole thing.” I sank into the pew and felt the hard wood not yield to my neck. That hurts.

“Yah, I know what you mean,” she said as she shifted again. This time, the blur settled into an older man, replete with golf shoes and a cardigan sweater. “I feel bad, but more than bad. Maybe because I am supposed to be infallible, and things like this aren’t supposed to happen.”

“What do you mean, ‘they’re not supposed to happen’? It just did.” I started to get angry. I pulled my hood over my head and closed my eyes. They started to burn. After staring at a TV showing the tragedy over and over, it felt good to not have to see it. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to fix things, and aren’t you supposed to be almighty this and that?”

“You’re pissed.” He kicked some sod off his shoes.

“No doubt. I mean what’s next? Who’s going to have to die?”

“I don’t know.” A blur again. This time I felt a breeze sweep over me. I peeked under a hood and found God sitting next to me in the pint sized body of a child in a private school uniform. “I have no idea,” said the God-child. “I wish I had answers. These things are as unpredictable to me as they are to you. People have control over their lives, and it’s not me who takes and gives although they always blame me for the good and the bad.” The God-child dangled her feet over the edge of the pew. I tied her shoes into a square knot. “Thanks,” she giggled.

“If you have no control over the situations in our lives, then what are you good for?” I looked at the God-child hard. She stared back, thinking. She blinked a few times more and then turned to stare at the front of the church. I looked over to where she was staring and watched an older woman kneel. “Is she praying to no one? I mean, if you don’t—“

“It’s not that I’m useless,” the God-child said, “it’s just that you don’t have any faith in me.” He smirked.

“I’ve been here to find faith, and I find out that I wind up leaving disappointed, there are no answers. I suppose that’s how you do that footprints poem thing where you carry me? I am alone when I leave this place.”

“You are alone?” A blur and before me appeared a priest.

“Interesting selection.”

“I only choose what fits the situation.”

“How about the godly figure that’s in all those paintings? You know, you sitting on a cloud, pointing at something like you’re ordering something at a deli, and long hair and shit like that.” I laugh.

“Oh, man, where the hell they get that shit,” the priest said. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I mean, I’m just whatever.”

“I guess. So I’ve come to this realization, and you might not like it.”

“Shoot.”

“I don’t really need you right now.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know, how in times like this, you don’t really help all that much. I mean, you are supposed to back us up and all, but you even admit there are no answers. That’s confusing as hell.” I sit back again and stare at the cupola in the distance. I wonder what it would look like if some projectile were to shatter it and land on top of me.

“Well maybe that’s the point.” The blur wiped out the priest and brought the image of the Deli God pointing at me.

“What point?”

“Whatever, chick.” Deli God picked up his robes around him and got up out of the pew. “I’m glad you feel like you don’t need me, I suppose you need to know that’s what God is all about, it’s not about ME, per se. It’s about you, and God is what you make him/her/it to be.” The Deli God morphed into the little girl, the old woman, Golf Pops, the Cookie woman, the priest, and finally came to settle on a new perfect image of me. Except my Twins look better.

“Ahem.” I pointed at my chest.

“Oh sorry.” A finger wave, and mine were smaller to match my doppleganger.

“Bitch.”

“Just kidding.” The Doppleganger fixed things and then disappeared.

I walked out of the church and into the bright sunlight and back to reality. And somewhere God headed out talking to other people and freaking them out, getting them hospitalized for schizophrenia. What a sense of humor that fucker has.

Voodoo

posted by Voodoo Child @ 11:22:00 PM