The Ungodly Blog: Conversations with God (but not as you know Her)

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The Lift Ride (10 July 2010) (Read this blog)

I awoke some time later to loud music coming from outside the window. It took me a few moments to remember that I had been sleeping in an inn somewhere in what appeared to be Dartmoor. I peered outside and saw a jazz band playing something wild while a handful of people danced sporadically in the wind-strewn square. It felt like it was very late, or very early depending on ones perspective. Dawn seemed not too distant.

I looked up to the sky and saw clouds racing past with an incredible velocity. A seemingly massive moon appeared and disappeared behind the racing clouds. I felt well rested and rather curious, so I dressed and made my way down to the square. A jazzy number with a strong beat enticed me into the dance and I soon found myself swaying to the music. Before long a lone, mousy young woman danced opposite me, albeit in her own world. Her short, straight hair flopped about in the wind and from her movements. Soon more and more people filled up the square, dancing and talking and playing. This pushed the band further and their already lively music became positively frantic. Meanwhile, even the clouds above seemed affected as they began moving faster and faster – or so it appeared.

I continued dancing.

A ruckus broke out nearby. People began running and shouting. A gun shot rang out.

And another.

And another.

The last one was particularly significant as it sent a bullet into me. It hurt something awful and I went down. The mousy woman looked shocked, knelt down to check me and then called for help as the crowd dispersed. Clearly a lot of people did not want to be there when the authorities showed up. Nevertheless, a few stayed on to watch the excitement.

A siren wailed and soon an ambulance pulled up. Men came out, put me on a stretcher and connected things to me. Nevertheless, I found myself growing more and more relaxed and ready to sleep. As I lay there, I heard a comforting voice saying, “Oh my dear Jeffrey, what's happened?”

I looked up at the gentle young face of God and deep into her ancient eyes where I found for a moment total comfort. She took my hand as the paramedics put the stretcher into the ambulance and started driving. Within moments we were pulling into a hospital's emergency entrance. As they took me out of the vehicle, I began feeling oddly empty. Suddenly, I heard a man shout, “oh shit! We're losing him. Get help! Quick!”

That did the trick. Soon a handful of people surrounded me and started doing things to me. There was a lot of shouting and activity all around me until I began falling through a tunnel, leaving the excitement behind. The last thing I heard was a distant, “damned! We've lost him.”

Then I heard a beep, opened my eyes and found myself alone on the stretcher, in clean clothes and free of the fussing medical staff. God was by my side. I was no longer in pain and sat up. God took my hand and helped me down while the mousy woman who had been dancing with me earlier came over to me. “You've made it,” she said in a curious accent.

“Where?” I asked.

“Why, you have died and are about to ascend to heaven, of course,” she replied.

I heard another beep and a lift door opened behind the mousy woman. “Come along then,” she replied, taking me by the arm. God accompanied us into the lift where we found a young lift operator at the controls.

“Oh, congratulations!” he said, pushing some buttons. “Let's ascend to heaven now”

I cannot say I was terribly enthusiastic about the proceedings. But God was by my side and I had no choice in the matter. In any event, I felt secure in her presence. As we went higher, I heard Bach's Air on a G String playing through the lift speaker.

“We're almost there,” said the cheery lift operator.

“I'm so excited!” said the mousy woman.

“I'm not sure that I am,” I said. “Could we perhaps...”

“No!” they both said simultaneously.

God remained quiet, but held my hand in a motherly sort of way. “Don't worry,” she said softly. And I didn't

“Here we are!” the woman and man said with bubbly excitement.

The door opened and I found myself entering my own bedroom.

“What's going on?” I shouted. “I thought I was going to heaven.”

“You have,” said the woman.

“Welcome!” said the man with an artificial excitement.

“Heaven is what you make of it my child,” said God. “Worry about it in the morning.”

She kissed me on the forehead and led me into the room. I looked around and then turned around to find that the lift door had shut and disappeared.

Whether or not I was dead, I was not sure. But I was certainly dead tired. So, I climbed into my familiar bed and was soon sound asleep.

The next day, I found myself back in my daily routine. Nevertheless, it somehow seemed a bit more special now. And that was a good thing.

Across Windswept Moorland Walked I (17 June 2010) (Read this blog)

I walked across the moorland towards the church steeple in the distance. A never ceasing wind threatened to blow the hair from my head and the clothes from my body, whilst clouds dashed across a blood red sky as if late for an important appointment. It was not an easy land across which to walk, but it was truly beautiful in a desolate, poetic way. I followed a well trodden dirt path.

After an hour or so, I saw on my left the ruins of what must once have been a majestic house, if not a palace, yet now was little more than an architectural skeleton. It had long ago been abandoned. And I felt abandoned too. Although God started me on this adventure, I had not seen her since I disappeared from the lecture hall – or the lecture hall had disappeared from me, whatever the case may have been.

I was alone. I walked on. The beauty of the landscape was giving away to chill, hunger and exhaustion. Yet I continued. The church steeple was growing closer, although far more slowly than I would have liked and I began to suspect it might have been part of a massive cathedral, further distant than I had initially suspected.

I approached an intersection with another dirt path where I saw someone walking. Covered in a robe, the individual looked almost monkish. Moreover, we seemed destined to meet at the intersection. How odd, after walking for more than an hour, the only other person I encountered would run into me if we continued at our current paces. But the monkish one sped up, came to the intersection first and turned to face me. A small feminine hand reached out of the robe and pulled the hood down to reveal the head of God who, as always, met my gaze with a smile so warm it could not fail but to warm the coldest of hearts. Mine wasn't that cold. But it was not warm either.

“Oh Jeffrey,” she said greeting me with a warm embrace rather than the usual platonic kiss. “I've missed you.”

“And I've missed you,” I told Her. “Where have you been? Or should I ask where have I been?”

She smiled again and said, “It doesn't matter. I've always been with you. Now let us continue down this path. There is a cosy inn, near the centre of town, where we can get food and the warmest, most comforting beds you have known or ever will know.” Then she took my arm and we walked down the path. Even though God was such a thin, girlish young woman, at least in appearance, I felt great comfort with Her there at my side holding my arm. I suppose omnipotence is omnipotence, irrespective of one's physical build.

Soon, I could see another couple walking up the path in our direction. That was hardly surprising. What was a shock however was to note, as they came closer, that the woman half of the couple looked exactly like God and even gave us God's warming smile as we passed. When I looked to the God on my arm, She simply smiled at me. A few minutes later we approached another intersection with a mother and child coming in our direction. As we drew neared, I observed that the mother also looked just like God and shared a Godlike warm smile. My God continued at my side with an almost playful smile just below her nose. I was about to ask her what was going on, when I noticed more paths coming together and more people, all walking in pairs, criss-crossing those paths. That pedestrian traffic picked up close to a city was to be expected. Less expected was that one half of every couple looked just like God. I saw old people and young people; men and women, children and adults each walking hand in hand with God. And each God smiled upon us and each other as we passed.

God laughed melodically at my confusion and said, “Oh Jeffrey, you don't think I walk only with you, do you? Of course you are special to me, because I have a great task for you: to spread my true word to the world. But I also walk with everyone. I am here for you and for him and for her and for her,” she pointed out nearby individuals, “All of them. I even walk with the person reading this episode in your blog. I do! For you see, I am a good mother and I am there for all my children wherever and whomever they may be.”

“Remember that,” she continued. “Whether you are sad or happy, angry or delighted, I am with you. If you do not feel me at your side, walk and you will feel my hands upon your arm, my warmth by your side and my strength within you. I am here for you. When you have not got sufficient strength, feel my strength within you. When you are sad, feel my sympathy. When you are happy, feel me share your joy. When you lie awake at night, unable to sleep, hold my hand, relax and feel my warmth and calmness caress your soul and let yourself sleep. For I am always with you. Always.”

As she finished speaking we entered the town centre, where some festival was coming to an end. A band was playing gentle jazz in the square. Small groups sat in the tables surrounding the square and others milled about. It was hard to place the town in time. There were no cars or other vehicles in the centre, yet fashion was not out of date. It was, on the other hand, slightly out of the norm. But then the places I explored with God seemed often to be out of the norm. Within the town, the wind was subdued. Nevertheless, the clouds above moved with great agitation and changing colour.

God led me to an inn just off the main square. We were seated near a roaring fire. Dinner was a simple vegetable soup with chunks of baguette and cheese, all washed down with a fine, well aged Bordeaux . Yet it was a nourishing and filling meal. Just the thing after a long walk on a windy evening. God and I spoke little as we ate. After dinner, we took our coffees in the square where we watched the band play and a few couples, none of which included God any longer, slowly dancing.

The exercise, warm meal and one glass of wine too many soon left me tired. With each piece the band played, my eyelids became heavier and heavier until I could stay awake no longer. I excused myself and went to my room.

By golly, I noted, God was right. It was truly the most comforting bed I had ever known, like sleeping in the arms of a lover, without the associated discomfort of arms that don't quite fit anywhere. And though I was alone on the bed physically, I sensed God there with me. But only for an instant, for by the second instant I was sound asleep.

A Stop in the Multiverse (15 June 2010) (Read this blog)

I was stretched out on the red leather sofa enjoying the baroque music that was playing in the background, but wishing nevertheless that there was something more to occupy my mind. Truth be told, I've never been terribly good at simply sitting. I need a book, a drawing pad or something. I was about to get up and explore the large white room when I felt a shudder that seemed to affect the entire room. I looked around the large room, but there was nothing there besides the armchair and sofa. So little could have gone amiss.

Then, in a moment, a whole opened in the wall and a woman in what looked rather like an air-hostess uniform stepped into the room and walked towards me. “Herr Baumgartner?” she asked.

“As far as I know,” I replied. I knew I had quite recently been Herr Baumgartner. But things had been decidedly odd since I met God and, in particular, since the lecture by the other Jeffrey Baumgartner. So, I couldn't entirely discount the possibility that I was not Jeffrey Baumgartner and instead someone else. If so, I hoped it would be someone nice.

She looked me up and down, then reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a device that looked somewhat like a digital camera. Scanning me with the device, she assured me: “Yes, you are clearly Mr. Baumgartner.” She replaced the device into her bag.

“I could have told you that,” a gentle voice announced. “I looked down to see the talking cat walk past.

“Well, if he is sure it is you, there can be no doubt,” said the air hostess. The cat started purring.

“Get to the point!” echoed the sound system that, until a moment ago, was playing something that sounded rather like Scarlatti, although I couldn't place the piece.

“Mr. Baumgartner,” continued the air hostess. “While traversing the Multiverse, our captain has been watching for a suitable reality for you. Apparently, there was not sufficient room in the previous reality for you and, um, you.”

“That was my observation as well,” I noted, trying to be helpful.

“She, the captain, that is, has found a suitable reality completely devoid of you. She feels it would suit you rather well. We shall be arriving there shortly. Come this way, please.”

I came that way.

We walked to the wall into which a door, rather like one you'd expect on an aeroplane, was embedded. Above it was two lights. Currently the red one shone steadily.

“One moment, please,” said the air hostess.

Before long the red light went out and the green light came on. The air hostess pressed a button in the wall and the door opened into a large landscape reminiscent of Dartmoor.

“Welcome to the planet Earth in a reality awfully like the one you've recently left,” said the air hostess whom curiously, was starting to look rather like a lizard. “Thank you for travelling with Trans Multiverse Chronoplanes. We hope that the next time you traverse realities you will again fly with us.”

There could be no denying the increasing lizardness of the air hostess as she ushered me out of the white room. Indeed, a forked tongue zipped past my nose as she said good-bye.

I stepped out onto the moor and looked behind me. A large door shaped hole floated just above the ground and in it I could see what was now clearly a lizard in the air hostess uniform. It smiled at me for a moment. Then the door shut and the space where it had floated shimmered for a moment before disappearing completely.

I looked around more carefully. I was alone on what seemed to be Dartmoor, but it was hard to be sure. I thought I saw a church steeple in the distance and, assuming it would be near a town centre, I began walking towards it. Above me, oddly coloured clouds moved quickly across the sky, echoing the wind which whistled across the landscape.

Out of One Dream and into Another (07 June 2010) (Read this blog)

Beep beep beep beep. Beep beep beep beep. Beep beep beep beep. Beep beep beep beep.

I sputtered awake at the noise of an alarm clock, momentarily hoping that all had been a dream. But no, I found I was laying on the red leather sofa in the strange white room. A waiter in black held a tray with a digital alarm clock sitting upon it. The alarm clock was beeping away merrily while the waiter looked slightly bored. When he saw I was awake, he lowered the tray. I switched off the alarm clock.

“I say,” I said, “might I have a coffee?”

“Yes, you might,” said the waiter rather sniffily to me. “But I rather doubt it.” He turn around abruptly and walked out of the room.

I watched him leave the room. “That wasn't very nice,” I said to myself with not a little disappointment. A strong coffee was definitely needed to replace the sleepiness in my head.

“I agree. Abso-fucking-lutel appalling if you ask me,” said a young woman whose petite proportions and soft features were incongruous with the throaty rude language that apparently had emanated from her vocal cords. While I stared at her, she reached into her waitress's uniform, which seemed to match the rude chap's, as if they were colleagues, pulled out a revolver which seemed overwhelming huge in her small hands and fired a shot across the room and into the other waiter, who jumped like a marionette flung into the air, and fell to the floor.

“What a shot, eh?” growled the little woman. She then looked down at me and said in a sweeter voice, “white or black?”

“What?” I asked. Sleepiness and lack of caffeine leaves me easily confused. Yet, I felt the scene that had just unfolded would remain incomprehensible even if I had caffeine injected directly into my bloodstream.

“Your coffee, sir?” she asked. “White or black?”

“Oh, sorry. Black please.” I said.

“I forgive you, sir,” she replied and walked out. I watched her leave, wondering if I might be advised to follow her out of this room.

“I'd stay where you are,” said a familiar voice languidly. “This place is weird. Indeed, I generally avoid it, but where she is going is weirder still.” And below me I saw the talking cat, who seemed to be following me.

“Are you from Cheshire?” I asked him.

“Oh, you've figured it out! That's marvellous,” said the cat. “As your reward, you will have a story told to you. Now sit tight and the narrator will be along in a moment.”

“No, I am here now,” said a heavy-set dark skinned woman of about 70 with African features and a German intonation to her voice. She was sitting in the red arm chair across from me. I looked at her for a moment, wondering how she had sneaked in. Then I looked down, only to see the cat had disappeared without even a smile as a souvenir.

“And here, I think, is your coffee,” my new companion continued as the petite waitress returned with a tray. She set on the table between us a pot of tea, a teacup and a mug of coffee.

“Thank you,” said we recipients of the drinks. The waitress curtsied with classical charm, then collected her tray and moved on. I helped myself to the coffee while my companion busied herself with the tea things.

“Now it is my turn,” she said finally. “I too have a story with a moral. Or perhaps it is a moral with a story. I'm not sure, so perhaps it is simply better that I start with the story, that is, if you don't mind.”

“No,” I said. “I should very much like to hear your story.”

Just then a shot rang out. The waiter apparently was not dead. He had pulled himself up, pulled a gun out of his uniform and shot at the waitress that had just served my companion and I. It missed, but he fired again, knocking her to the ground. I got up to help, but my companion put her hand on my arm and pulled me back down again. “No need, young man. They do this all the time. If you get involved, you might get shot and that wouldn't suit God or me at all.”

By this time, the waitress had again pulled out her massive revolver and was shooting back at the waiter. They exchanged shots for a few moments. But my elderly companion seemed indifferent to the gun battle and I followed her example.

“You see,” said my companion after sipping her tea. “They have been a couple for a while now. But Katie, the young woman, feels that Jason, the young man, does not care for her very much. So she gets her revenge by pretending she does not care for him very much. This, in turn, makes Jason feel neglected by Katie. So he pretends he's not very interested in her and makes a show of neglecting her needs.”

“Rather a downward spiral,” I said.

“Indeed,” said my companion. “And recently Jason has been having an affair with a silly young woman as a form of revenge.”

As she spoke, I saw Katie, the waitress, look over at us in shock. “The bastard” she shouted, walking over to my companion and I. She looked at me curiously for a moment, then straddled me and kissed me full on the lips with a violent passion completely devoid of any warmth. It was an ice cold kiss.

At the same time, I heard the waiter, Jason, scream, “You bitch!” There was then a loud click followed by more gun shots which included a disturbing whooshing sound which seemed all too indicative of bullets zinging over my head. This was not a good scenario and if I was going to die while being kissed, I would have much preferred passionate kisses from someone about whom I cared. So, I gently pushed Katie off me.

“That's sweet of you,” I said. “But not now, thanks. I am listening to a wonderful narrative from....” and I realised I didn't know the name of my companion.

“Jennifer,” she said.

“Jennifer,” said I.

By this time, Jason had come closer and was firing at Katie, who moved away. They soon chased each other out of the room. The gun shots, interspersed with the sound of reloading soon faded.

“Lord love a duck,” said I. “Do they hate each other?”

“Quite the contrary,” said Jennifer. They love each other, but doubt the other's love.

“Then why do they treat each other so badly?” I asked.

“Each feels it is safer to treat the other worse in hopes the one will be shocked into treating the other better,” explained Jennifer.

“That doesn't make sense,” said I. “Why doesn't each treat the one as he – or she – would have him – or her – self treated.”

“That does make sense, now, doesn't it?” asked Jennifer. “But you humans so seldom behave that way.”

“We humans?” I asked.

“Oops, did I say that?” asked Jennifer.

“Yes.”

“Well, you mustn't take an old woman like me too seriously,” she said, looking at her watch. “And I see the time has come for me to go. It has been so nice chatting with you, young man.”

I stood and we kissed one another's cheeks. Then Jennifer walked to the end of the room, pushed a button which opened a door in the wall and disappeared. At the same time Adagio in G minor by Albinoni suddenly made itself heard as if there was a small orchestra in the room. I looked around, but there was only me. I sat myself back down on the sofa and finished my coffee.

A Story (30 April 2010) (Read this blog)

An elderly Chinese woman came into the room, put an elegant tray topped with tea things on the small table in front of us and sat herself in the sofa opposite me. She smiled for a moment and then asked, “Would you like a cup of tea?” in an upper class British accent that hinted at an Oxford education.

“Yes, please,” I said.

She poured each of us a cup of tea, sat back in her chair and said, “I will tell you a story.”

“I think I'd like that,” I said.

“Once upon a time, there was a curious couple, an artist and a scientist who loved each other tremendously, but were afraid to admit it. Instead, they pretended only to like each other.”

“That's a strange thing to do,” I noted.

“Indeed, but don't interrupt, young man,” she said.

“The artist sometimes gave the scientists little drawings, often in the form of cards that he would send when he travelled. The scientist put them up on a wall reserved for cards and postcards from friends and family. But one day they got into a tremendous fight and vowed never to see each other again. So, the scientist took all the artist's cards down and put them in a box which she hid away.

“Eventually they made up, because as I said, they loved each other tremendously. And soon they were back to pretending to like each other. After a couple of weeks, the artist noticed that his cards had never returned to the scientist's wall. This hurt the artist, but he understood that he had hurt the scientist. So, he started sending more drawings and pictures on cards which the scientist put on her wall.

“But, because they had a tumultuous relationship, they eventually argued again. So, the scientist took all the postcards down once more and broke the artists heart, because he was a sensitive soul. But, of course, so was the scientist, otherwise she wouldn't have taken down his cards whenever she got angry. So, there were two broken hearts in the relationship, although neither heart-owner seemed to realise the damage to the other's heart.

“This happened a couple of more times until one day, in a fit of vengeful anger, the artist had an affair with one of the scientist's good friends.”

“Oh dear!” I said, uncomfortably

“Yes,” continued the woman. “And of course the scientist promptly found out, as the artist rather intended. He did, after all, have the affair as a twisted form of revenge rather than any real desire to have a relationship with the friend.

“So, the scientist took the artist down, so to speak, and put him in a box.”

She paused for a moment, while I stared at her rather aghast.

“And they most certainly did not live happily ever after!” she concluded with emphasis.

“Lord love a duck!” I exclaimed, as I am wont to do. “Is there a moral to this story? It sounds as if there ought to be one.”

“I expect so,” she said. “But fuck me if I know what it is.” Then she picked up her tea things carefully and walked out of the room without another word.

The Lecture (27 April 2010) (Read this blog)

While still trying to get my bearings, I heard a knock upon the door, which captured the cat's as well as my attention. “Yes?” I asked.

“It's me!” I heard a friendly voice announce before opening the door and dancing in. God was dressed in a lovely white evening gown while her face was decorated in rather severe make-up. “My goodness, are you still in the bath?” She asked.

“Well,” I said looking down at myself, submerged in a tub of water, “it does seem that I am.”

“Get up. We're going to be late!” she said.

“Like the rabbit,” the cat said lazily.

“Yes, of course, sweetheart,” said I, standing in the tub as water cascaded down me and into the bath. In fact, I was surprisingly dry, almost as if the water hadn't stick to me.

“Mmmmm, rabbit,” the cat said, licking its mouth and purring.

I looked at myself in the mirror and thought I looked rather together for all that had just happened. I fluffed up my hair a bit and helped myself to a cup of water before God took my hand and pulled me out of the room.

“Give my regards to the caterpillar,” said the cat languidly as I was dragged out of the bathroom and into a grand bedroom. A gorgeous, four poster bed dominated the massive room. Delicate curtains hung from the posters and swayed in the gentle breeze that blew in through the window. As I was admiring this, I noticed that Adagio in G Minor by Albinoni was playing in the background. I looked up for the source of the music and was stunned by a beautiful fresco, of cherubs dancing in a Greek ruin, that filled the ceiling.

“My God, this is beautiful,” I said paralysed by the spectacle above my eyes.

“Thanks,” she said. And I realised that I would have to think more carefully about using Her name in vain as she seemed to take my exclamations literally, at least when they involved the word “God”. Meanwhile, she plucked a set of car keys off a dresser and pulled me towards the door. We left the room into a magnificent stone hallway with Portuguese tiles decorating the floor. An attractive young woman wearing a long, linen skirt, but no blouse, nor indeed anything above the waist, was dusting the sculpture laden tables that lined the corridor. She smiled at me. “Bom Dia,” she said. I couldn't help but notice her magnificent breasts.

“No, you couldn't,” noted God as well, as we walked down the corridor. I blushed.

We came to a vast staircase, walked down to what appeared to be a hotel lobby populated by people with rabbit heads who were slowly dancing to something that sounded rather like Chopin. A girl of about 12 with golden curls and a frilly dress walked past us, looked up at me and said, “curiouser and curiouser, sir”

“Indeed,” I replied as the girl fled across the room and though a door.

We left the building. Outside was a large drive that circled around an elegant, yet aged fountain. The sky was a hyperactive display of white clouds racing across a burgundy red skyline. Below, a slightly battered old Bentley was parked near the door and God led me towards it. She let go of my hand and I realised there was a set of keys where her palm had been. “You drive. You're faster than me,” she said.

I started up the car, put her into gear and followed God's instructions. I paid little heed to speed limits as there were precious few people on the roads and, in any event, I rather doubted that God would get pulled over for speeding. The massive car was surprisingly sprightly to drive. Ten minutes later we entered the gates of a University whose name I had never before heard. Its campus was full of vaguely Greek style stone buildings. God directed me past them to a large auditorium. We parked the Bentley out front and, as we entered the building, we walked past a a board indicating that the lecture “The Equations of God,” would be in the Gödel Room, which was that way. We walked that way.

The lecture hall was crowded. Nevertheless, we found a pair of seats not far from the stage. A few moments later, the speaker took the front of the room. I was surprised to notice that he looked very much like me. And when the first PowerPoint slide filled the screen on our left hand side of the stage, I was even more surprised to note that the speaker's name was also Jeffrey Baumgartner. “Small world,” I said to God who smiled gently in return.

The Jeffrey on stage began his lecture, initially based on slides. But soon he began writing some equations on the board. These promptly multiplied as he enthusiastically explained his logic. His interest was in demonstrating human behaviour mathematically, but in pursuing this, he had discovered a set of equations which, he claimed, defined God. Writing them on the board, whilst explaining the logic, he eventually shouted emotionally, “this clearly proves not only that God exists, but that she is a woman and,” he paused for a moment, apparently reviewing the last equations in his mind. “and she is sitting in this room,” he continued looking up, glancing back at the whiteboard and looking at God. “right over there next to me,” he concluded pointing at us while the audience gasped most likely in confusion. At least I was confused.

The Jeffrey on stage looked at me for a bit, looked at his equations, looked at me and then looked at the equations, mumbling in what would have been a quiet voice, had he not had a microphone strapped to him, “that can't be right. I cannot exist twice in this room, even if God is...” he paused again, then smiled and shouted, “Of course! That should be a two, not a one. Then there can only be one of me.”

He began erasing the number two and suddenly the room, the other Jeffrey and God all disappeared. I found myself sitting alone on a red leather arm chair, facing an empty red leather sofa in a large, empty white room. “Presumably the other Jeffrey worked out that we couldn't co-exist in the same reality,” I thought, while surveying my new environment. “And I was the one Jeffrey too many.”

Falling (23 April 2010) (Read this blog)

Within a moment of mentioning food, we came upon a number of roughly hewn wooden tables set on a field beside the road. “This looks like a nice place, doesn't it?” asked God.

“I'm sure it is,” said I, thinking that if you cannot trust God's judgement of good food, whose can you trust.

We seated ourselves at a table and before long, a young Asian woman came to us with menus printed in Thai. Although my Thai was rusty, I could still make my way through a menu, but it hardly mattered, God promptly ordered a table full of my favourite dishes. Then, apparently worried that I might feel neglected, She suggested I choose the wine. I selected a friendly Orvieto which seemed a suitable match to Her order. God, needless to say, spoke flawless Thai with a soft Bangkok accent. My Thai, however, was highly corrupted by my English-American accent.

The meal was a spicy delight with the usual complimentary contradictions of flavours that mark a good Thai feast. The wine, moreover was an exceptionally friendly Orvieto – one you could trust with your life. I was just leaning back and enjoying a splendid coffee when I heard an ominous click followed by God's surprised face disappearing over my head and ground rushing past. It took me a moment to realise that it was not the world around me which was moving, rather it was me falling down a deep hole at a deadly pace. I felt vaguely grateful that God, or whoever allowed this to happen to me, allowed me to enjoy the meal before dispensing with me through the ground. Actually, I thought as I continued my decentm I rather doubted it was God. She seemed as surprised as me by what happened. Nevertheless, her omniscience suggested at least approval of what was happening to me. Or so I thought.

Suddenly, the walls of earth gave way to blue sky and an ocean very, very far below. “Holy shit,” I shouted as the sea raced up to meet with me at a deadly velocity. I extended my legs in order to hit the water straight on. In normal circumstances, I wouldn't have given myself any chance of surviving. But falling from the sky after a Thai dinner is hardly normal circumstances. So, I still had hopes.

I hit the water as if I flew into a sea of gelatine. It was soft, gave some resistance and hurt far less than expected. But once I stopped moving, the water felt rather more like water than gelatine.

I swam up, only to find myself sitting in a warm bath in a large tub in a very elegant and slightly old fashioned hotel bathroom. I remained dressed in my now very wet faded corduroy trousers, knit shirt and earthy tweed jacket. A cat on the nearby counter said, “I bid you welcome, sir.”

It may very well have been the cat I had seen and heard in the wood earlier. Certainly, they both talked fluently, a trait unusual in cats, at least in my experience. “Thank you,” I replied, looking around the curious bathroom while the cat looked at me with idle curiosity.

Things would only get weirder from then onwards.

A Walk in the Wood (16 April 2010) (Read this blog)

We stumbled down a dirt path, brushing against leafless branches that scraped our skin and slapped our faces. Between the trees I could see the stone remains of not quite identifiable structures that littered this wood. But God kept a heady pace and I had little opportunity to work out what I was seeing. Nevertheless, the wood brought on a feeling similar to the melancholy which overwhelms me from time to time. So, it was probably for the best that I had not time to examine all that we passed.

Eventually we came to what must have been a road. The tarmac was cracked like a piece of glass just before it falls to pieces. And from the cracks grew a splendid variety of plants. Well, weeds actually. But they had a grim post-apocalyptic beauty to them. We followed the road and marched against the wind which seemed to have picked up again. Or perhaps the open road slashed across the wood simply gave the wind more opportunity to blow.

After a half hour or so, we saw a man walking toward us on the road. As he came closer, I could see he was wearing a faded and somewhat scrappy suit. In his hand was an attaché case that looked as though it had been dragged across a desert. When he was within hearing distance he said to me, “Oh I am late. I am so fucking late and I don't know where I am.”

“Late for what?” I asked.

He looked puzzled, glanced from me to God to the road ahead of him and then burst into tears. “Oh God, I don't know,” he cried.

“There, there, Simon” said God. “It doesn't matter. It's finished now. Everyone missed you, but they managed anyway. They told me to tell you not to worry.”

“Oh thank God for that,” he said.

“Oh, you're quite welcome,” God smiled. “Now go on home.”

Just then, a faded old bus pulled up. It was curiously silent and the windows tinted to the point of opacity, at least from the outside.

“Thank you,” said Simon climbing on board the vehicle.

The door shut and the bus hummed off in the direction from which we had come. Meanwhile, we continued walking. The near silence of the bus made me aware of how silent this wood also was. I would normally have expected to hear the occasional car in the distance, birds chirping and other noises of the countryside. But in this wood, I could only hear the wind rustling through the trees' bare branches, making an almost clapping like sound.

We walked.

A woman stood in the road. As we drew closer, I could see that she was wearing a frayed tweed skirt and matching jacket over a worn white blouse. He dirty brown hair was windblown and the tension in her face said she was as well. She walked towards us.

“I'm so sorry,” she said in a voice close to tears. “Nothing has gone to plan. Everything's gone to hell. I've tried. I really have. But no one co-operated and well...”

“Don't worry about it, sweetheart,” said God, in an almost motherly voice, as she took the clip board and signed her name. “Everything worked out in the end after all, didn't it, Elena?”

“Did it?” asked Elena. She thought for a moment before adding, “yes, I suppose it did.”

“Good,” said God. “You've done all that you could. That's fantastic. Now get on home to your children.”

“But I don't have any children.” said Elena looking tearful again.

“That's because you worry too much about this rubbish,” said God waving the clipboard. Then she bent down, lifted Elena's blouse slightly and kissed her belly gently. “But you will have your first child soon.”

Elena looked at God quizzically.

“Trust me, sweetheart. No go home.”

Elena turned into the wood and walked towards a large rock outcropping, which she touched. A moment later, doors opened and I realised she had just summoned a lift that appeared to embedded in the large stone.

God tugged at my arm and we continued along the road. Along the way, we passed an older woman complaining about her clothes and how she was not paid enough to buy anything nice. Later, a young man complained this his girlfriend was neglecting him. A young Japanese woman complained bitterly to God. But I don't understand Japanese and could not understand what she said.

In each instance, God comforted the complainer. She told each person not to worry and that She would take care of it. One by one, each became happier and then disappeared into the wood or onto a silent old bus.

Towards evening a cat walked up to us and spoke. “My master gives me shit food,” she whined to my astonishment.

“That's because you are never happy,” said God who had crouched down to pet the animal. “And you gobble up your food too fast to know whether you like it or not anyway.”

“Yes, but,” began the cat.

“Yes. And?” said God.

“Yes,. Ok.” said the cat before it turned and ran back into the wood.

“I don't get it,” I said to God. Thus far, all of my walks with Her seemed to demonstrate a clear philosophical point. But this walk seemed to be only a sequence of curious encounters. “What's the point?”

“I don't know either,” said God. “But I'm hungry. How about you?”

“Now that you mention it,” I said realising my belly felt empty and we had been walking for hours.

“Then let's get something to eat,” She said. “Maybe then it will become clear.”

Desolation (09 April 2010) (Read this blog)

Upon a desolate, windswept landscape, beneath a purple sky thick with electric charge I walked alone. I could not quite remember how I came to be there, and was surprised to find myself alone in this cold and lonely plain. Usually, when I found myself in a new landscape, God would be there with me, but this time. No.

In the far off distance, a huddled line of dots moved slowly against the wind. Were they other people? Vehicles? Figments of my imagination? I knew not. I only knew that as beautiful as this scene may have been aesthetically, it was a cold, lonely spot in which to occupy. Nevertheless, I walked. What else could one do in the circumstances? I walked against the wind along a sandy path as clouds raced past in the opposite direction, no doubt desperate to escape this lonely landscape. And who could blame them.

The path took me up a hill and as I came to the peak, I saw the ruin of a city in the distance, thin streams of smoke quickly dispersed by the winds suggested that this city's death had been recent, but not too recent. And, as I gazed upon the glorious skeleton of ex-buildings, I knew somehow that a great catastrophe had recently ravaged the world upon which I walked.

A couple of hundred metres ahead, the path forked, with the well trodden branch disappearing in the direction of the city and the less trodden option veering to the right and into a wood. Bearing Robert Frost's poem in mind, I choose the latter and headed towards the wood. As I walked, I could hear the wind blowing through the trees and bristling the leaves in a cacophony of chatters. In the near distance, a woman sat upon a stone, clutching something to her chest. As I drew near, I could see first that the woman was breastfeeding an infant and later that the woman was God.

Coming from the other direction, marched an old man carrying a sack over his shoulder and a rifle in his other hand. For a moment I was worried. This was a difficult world and a man with a gun could easily kill and take the food of his victims. And a petite, breastfeeding woman would be an easy target. But no. He melted before God and the child. He knelt down, reached into his sack and pulled out some food which he gave to God. Then he patted the child on the head, wiped what may have been a tear from his eye and continued towards me.

He smiled a crooked, but not unfriendly, smile towards me and mumbled “good mornin'” as he passed. I replied in kind.

As I approached God, she patted the rock beside her and I sat. “Hello, Jeffrey,” she said.

“Hello God,” I replied. “Windy day today, isn't it?”

“It always is here,” she said.

As we sat, largely quietly, passers by frequently stopped to say hello or offer a little food. Most were windblown and many looked as if they had not eaten a great deal in recent months. Yet, each was kind. Indeed, for a post apocalyptic world, it seemed disarmingly friendly.

“It is,” she said. “I don't know why writers in your world assume that after the apocalypse, my children will become animals, stealing and killing for tiny bits of food or drink. That's not they way of my children. The history of the human race has been of suffering. There has been illness, drought, plague and evil. Yet, by and large, people have always helped each other out. And the harder conditions are, the more people help one another out.”

“But criminals?” I asked. “Bad people?”

“Oh, of course there are always evil people” she said. “But they make up a very small portion of the population anywhere. Most people will lend a helping hand to those that they care for, for their families and their communities. And even victims of criminals well get up and persevere if they have to. But they seldom become criminals themselves.

“Most of my children are my children and so they care for one another. Indeed, that is the most important principle of all: to love my children and act to make my children's lives better rather than worse. Here in this desolate, half destroyed world, my children care for one another and are co-operating to bring as much happiness and prosperity as they can to their villages.”

She was silent for a moment, looking down upon the child. Then she looked at me and said, “let's go for a walk.”

At that, she flung the baby into the air. Reflexively, I jumped up to catch it – as any parent would. But in a split second the baby spread a beautiful, white set of wings and, in a fit of giggling, flew off towards the city.

“Good God,” I exclaimed.

“I am, I assure you,” said she taking my arm and leading me along the path and into the wood.

Creative Minds at Work (26 March 2010) (Read this blog)

After a period of time, I am not sure if it was minutes or an hour or longer, God abruptly turned and gestured for me to follow. Her wings pumping rapidly, she sped towards the ground and then on towards a mountain in the east. It was all I could do to keep up with her. As we approached the mountain, I notice the entrance to a cave near the base. This was apparently her target and, indeed, she raced directly towards it and shot right in without slowing in the slightest. I followed a moment later, afraid that we might crash head first into the wall of the cave, but also not wanting to lose sight of God who was moving at an incredible pace.

I need not have worried of collisions. We entered a long cave and flew faster and faster. I could feel the air racing past me like a hurricane. At the same time, I noticed that Her wings were beginning to glow a bright orange. Curious, I looked at my own wings and saw they were now a bright blue. And still we moved faster and faster.

At some point, we were moving so phenomenally fast that the wind against my face had become unbearable. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and suddenly, the wind disappeared. When I opened them, I noted that She seemed to have become a glowing orange sphere, the colour of her wings a moment ago. A second later we shot into a massive cavern where there were millions of glowing spheres of all colours. When I tried to bend my head back to examine my own body, I realised that this was no longer possible. I suspected that I had also turned into a glowing sphere, presumably a blue one.

I watched as the spheres darted this way and that. They often formed clusters, swarming around each other. Occasionally, a sphere would leave one cluster for another and as time passed, I noticed that some clusters grew larger and others shrank. Over time, some clusters disappeared all together while new clusters appeared out of nowhere.

It was fascinating to watch, like some phenomenally complex dance. The orange sphere that I assumed and hoped was God, flew towards one of the walls of the cavern and I followed. She settled on a ledge as did I and suddenly, we were winged beings again. “What an incredible sight,” I remarked.

“Isn't it though,” replied God. “It's the creative mind at work. Each sphere is a thought. Those thoughts move around, interact with each other and move on. Thoughts often connect and attract more thoughts, creating those clusters.”

“So, we are in someone's mind?” I ask dubiously.

“More a representation of a mind,” said God. “The mind itself is too abstract to grasp visually. This is simply how you are interpreting it.”

“But it is someone's mind?” I ask again.

She looked around for a moment before replying. “No, actually it is a group mind.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask.

“When people come together and collaborate, their minds also come together. In your time, that was mostly through talking and doing things. So the minds did not physically connect. In your future, minds will be able to link more closely and collaborate on a far deeper level.”

“Cool,” I said and then thinking about it for a moment, I added: “and scary”.

“Yes,” said God. “But not as scary as you might think. When people share their minds, they generally become more honest, open and co-operative. That leads to better understanding between people. IN any event, people can keep certain thoughts to themselves even when collaborating mind to mind.”

We watched the spheres move around for a while and I could almost hear Bach's Brandenberg concertos playing in the background.

“In fact,” she added after a few minutes, “The primordial being, or atom, is like this but almost infinitely huge. Imagine the creative power of such an entity!”

“It defies imagination,” I said. “At least to me.”

“Even to me,” said God. “And I've got a damned good mind.”

Then she laughed, stood up and took a swan dive down into the cavern. Afraid of being left alone, I dove after her. We raced downwards for several hundred metres before pumping our wings and flying away. We flew again through the long tunnel – or at least through a long tunnel. I cannot be sure it was the same one. We zoomed out from the cave entrance and soared across the landscape of Flemish farming villages, following the train tracks towards Erps-Kwerps. In a moment, we approached my house. We flew in through the open bedroom doors and stopped in my bedroom. God put her hand on my wings and they disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

“Sweet dreams,” she said, hugging me.

“I can't imagine any dreams comparing to this,” I told her as she flew out the window and off towards the horizon. In fact, I was far too wound up to sleep and so made myself a cup of tea while thinking about the cavern. It amused me to think that something similar was going on in my mind as I remembered those spheres in the cavern.

Wings (22 March 2010) (Read this blog)

“Come, Jeffrey.”

I was woken by her voice. “Come, Jeffrey,” she said gently, several times before I finally awoke.

And it seemed as if I had woken from one dream and into another as I saw God's outstretched hand, head and shoulder extending through the ceiling towards me. I took her hand, half tempted to pull her into bed so that I could go to sleep again in Her warm embrace. But God clearly had other ideas and pulled me up towards Her.

And she kept pulling higher and higher. It was then that I noticed God sported a remarkable pair of wings which were flapping away and carrying us up into the clouds.

Then I noticed was that I was completely naked, as is my sleeping habit. At the same time, God looked down upon me and remarked, “Not bad for a man your age, but not entirely appropriate for our activities today.” She abruptly changed direction and we soared down towards the village below, which was no longer Erps-Kwerps, and we lit at the front of a small clothing shop. We walked into the shop which, hardly surprisingly, was deserted. She found underwear and loose trousers that seemed to be made of a soft cotton – although there was no label inside. She tossed both to me. I put them on and immediately felt more comfortable. Being naked in front of an attractive woman, even if She is God, is not necessarily a comfortable situation if one is not planning on seducing or being seduced.

“Now, I need to find a shirt for you,” God said walking behind me. Then I heard her add: “Oh, and you will need wings, of course.” She kissed each of my shoulder blades which resulted in a warm glow, followed by a strange, stretching sensation. In a moment I could feel new muscles and weight upon my back. I stretched the muscles carefully and felt the breeze of flapping wings.

“Good God!” I exclaimed.

“Yes?” She replied.

I walked towards a mirror and saw that I now too sported a remarkable pair of wings. More surprisingly, I immediately found myself able to use them instinctively.

“Here,” God announced throwing me an odd shirt which, in a moment, I realised was designed to fit around my new wings. I pulled it on and buttoned it up.

I'll have to hand it to God. The off white clothes she had found me matched my new wings perfectly and I looked more angelic than I probably ever have since birth. “Not bad,” I said.

“Not bad at all!” She replied with a smile. “Now let's go!”

We stepped out of the shop and she flew into the air. I tested my wings a couple of times, muttered “I hope this works,” and took off behind her.

God's childishness came through as she soared through the sky, up and down, doing loops and flying under telephone cables, through arches and along train tracks, giggling away like a delighted little girl. I followed behind her awkwardly at first. But in moments I had the hang of it and was following right behind her, giggling rather myself, I must confess. Indeed, I had not had so much simple pleasure in a long time.

Hell (15 March 2010) (Read this blog)

We walked out of the centre of Nivelles and along a well trod path that bisected a vast field where once crops must have flourished. But the ground had long since given way to weeds. In the distance, a ruby red spot appeared. As we drew nearer, I saw that the spot was a red door, standing upright in the field, not 50 metres from the edge of the path. Under the overcast sky, the door's redness was remarkably deep and the image was that of a surreal photograph of the sort I had a habit of taking years back.

As we approached the door, God took my hand and we left the path. She opened the door for me. Upon going through, we entered a dusty large room very similar to an old London Underground station, decorated in wood. In the centre of the room were two wooden escalators that extended as far as the eye could see. We stepped onto the one going down.

“Hold on,” She said, resting my hand on the railing which was a fortunate thing as the escalator began moving remarkably fast. I looked back, and I must say that God looked absolutely gorgeous with her short blonde hair and long flowing white dress all billowing in the wind. She gave me a girlish smile and gestured with her head to look forward, which I did. The walls, which were decorated with what appeared to be renaissance paintings and occasional alcoves with busts, moved faster and faster until all became a blur. We must have been moving at a hefty velocity and I was surprised I wasn't flung off the escalator. I had more confidence in God, surely an omnipotent being could avoid such deadly clumsiness. Fortunately, we both did.

Eventually the moving stairs seemed to slow and before long they had reduced speed to normal escalator velocity. When we reached the ground, we stepped off in a glare of artificial lights and it was not until we stepped through the bright glare that I saw we were in a surreal, night time landscape, with strange, ugly rock formations in the background, dead trees climbing into the skies and sculptures of naked figures curled up into the foetal position. We walked along a badly damaged cobblestone road in which the ruins of stone buildings jutted up here and there, piercing the harsh darkness with further harshness. Only the street lamps seemed functional, albeit in poor repair. Yet they provided some small, eerie light to the scene. I shivered in a coldness that reached to my soul.

I began looking at the sculptures and noted they were very realistic representations of people, mostly old and, to be honest, physically ugly. The were impressively realistic and I wondered from which medium they had been made when God's voice interrupted my thoughts. “They are real.”

“What?” I remarked, surprised. This was the first time I had seen any other human beings during my walks with God. Moreover, they all seemed inert, although it was hard to tell in the harsh shadows of the street lit night.

“They are real, recently dead and in hell,” she replied. “You are seeing them as they feel themselves to be.”

“I've been a bit confused about all this,” I replied, now actively avoiding the bodies with my eyes. “You've said that when people die, they return to the primordial existence outside of space-time, is that not correct?”

“Yes, essentially,” she answered. “It is complicated to understand from your perspective. But when someone dies, their consciousness leaves space-time and enters non-space time, which is the primordial atom or Super-Consciousness. But this transition is seldom an instantaneous process. Usually, the dying person's sense of time slows considerably and their sense of space becomes disjointed and blurry.

“The consciousness enters a form of, well, pure meditation undistributed by outside influences. More importantly, it becomes unable to lie even to itself. At this stage, the consciousness also begins to become aware of the Super-Consciousness outside of space-time.”

“Which is also you,” I commented.

“Yes, sort of,” she replied. “Anyway, during that moment of pure meditation, the dying person reflects upon their life. Those who have been evil suffer a worse hell than they had ever dished out to their victims. That is why they look so ugly, old wrinkled and pathetic; curled up like babies in spite of their age and clear lack of innocence.”

“How long does this transition last?” I asked as we walked past an ancient church with a handless clock face on one of its towers.

“It's hard to say,” She replied. “Time does not have the same meaning to the dying. In our terms, it lasts but an instant. But for them, it may feel like hours or lifetimes.”

“Yet they are all reunited with the primordial atom?” I asked.

“Yes, eventually at least to their minds. But the primordial atom does exists outside of space and time, so to the Super-Consciousness, time is both non-existent and eternal. It is difficult for you to understand, I expect. I know.”

“Super-Consciousness?” I asked, for she had used this term a couple of times now.

“Yes, the primordial atom is essentially the Super-Consciousness of all intelligence in the Universe.”

“All?” I asked, pleased to bring my mind to a more positive topic than death and hell.

“Yes, all.” She said. “But the answer to your question must wait until another day. We have spoken long enough today.”

Then She turned up an overgrown path that led to a largely intact, yet ancient house. She pulled open the door, kissed me on the forehead with a love and warmth the sent away the intense chill of the landscape of the dead and sent me inside the house.

I found myself in the crypt beneath Saint Gertrude's church, just below the point from which I had started this adventure. “Oh, there you are,” said my friend with whom I had driven to Nivelles.

“Yes, I believe so,” I said

How it all began

On a cold winter's evening in a dreary supermarket I looked into the glowing smile of a tired cashier and saw God who reached out from that smile, took my hand and pulled me across many dimensions to a warm, desolate beach of another time. Together we walked beneath the ever changing sky that was cloudy one moment, red the next and star filled the next.

I know not how I knew she was God, for although bringing me to this surreal beach was a supernatural feat, God herself appeared before me as a young woman, not more than 25 years of age

God and I walked along the beach as the sky changed with hyperactive energy. She took my hand and spoke. “I am disappointed in you, my children,” she told me, gazing through me and out into the sea. “You have not matured in 2000 years. You have wrapped my words of universal love, compassion and understanding into a web of medieval rituals and beliefs that have more to do with hurting my children than loving them. Worse, so many of my children hurt each other in my name, as if I would ever harm one of my children? What loving mother would or could do such a thing?

These are my conversations with her...

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