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

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In a Romanesque Church in Wallonia (12 March 2010) (Read this blog)

I was walking through the Collegiate Church of Saint Gertrude in Nivelles, admiring its sleek Romanesque curves. Saint Gertrude's always seems more restful than the more ornate Gothic churches more typical of this area. While looking down the nave of the church and debating whether or not to take a photo, I noticed the light coming in through the windows was becoming erratic, suddenly bright, suddenly dark, faster even than is normally the case in Belgium. Then the colours of the light turned unnatural. I looked around the church and was hardly surprised to find the modern amenities gone. The chairs were replaced by wooden benches. And I knew, as I had come to learn, that when reality gets weird God must be nearby.

“I am indeed!” I heard Her girlish voice announce with pleasure behind me. I turned to see her sitting on a bench, smiling at me.

“It's been a while,” I said.

“Yes,” she replied. “You've been busy and I have patience. It's an advantage to immortality: patience.” She put out her hand, I took it and gently pulled her up, amused by the irony of a simple human assisting God to stand.

“What's it like, being in a house of God?” I asked Her in good humour.

“Oh, this isn't my house,” she replied. “It was made for the God these children of mine believed in 900 years ago.”

“But that God has never existed, has he?” I asked.

“Not really. Not in the way you mean. But he was very real to my children who lived here and many who live here now.” She said thoughtfully.

“But isn't it preposterous that such a grand building was built for a God who didn't exist? Indeed, Europe was and still is littered grand churches! Surely better use could have been made of the resources than building a vast structure to a non-existent God!”

“Back when this church was built, most people's lives were shit,” God said with ungodly vulgarity which surprised and charmed me at the same time. “They were unhealthy, underfed, filthy and often in pain. Very few even reached your age, Jeffrey. Life then was suffering for all of my children, except for a few of the very rich, even here in Europe.

“They needed something to believe in. Something to make it seem that the long hard labour for often insufficient food was worth it. Their church gave them that. At least they could hope to go to heaven at the end of their misery here.”

“And did they?” I asked.

“Of course they did! They were so sure of the existence of heaven and hell that those who led good lives saw paradise as they laid dying, in their final moments before joining me in the primordial state outside of space-time. They entered the gates of heaven with their last breaths, as their brains shut down and death gave them peace,” God said and I noticed a tear in her eye.

I looked at her puzzled.

“Oh Jeffrey,” she said. “I don't like it that so many of my children have suffered so much in their time here on Earth. It is only recently in countries like yours that most people can actually live their lives in reasonable health, clean conditions and free of pain. That is not what I want.”

“Is there nothing you can do?” I asked, puzzled that God could not handle a problem along these lines.

“No,” She answered. “Unlike the religion taught in this church, I did not create the heavens and earth and humans. I am as much the result of the big bang and creation of consciousness as you are. But I represent the whole where you and all my other children represent but a tiny, tiny part of the consciousness.

“But when my children try and do good to each other, then it alleviates their suffering. That is one thing that so many of the religions of your world has tried to teach. Sadly, the loving one another bit is also the one part that is so often ignored.”

“Indeed,” I replied. “We humans seemed to have spent much of our time appalled by religions that differed from ours rather than focusing on the love and respect bit.”

“Yes,” said God sadly.

“If it's any good, I do apologise for the human race.” I remarked.

“Don't be flippant, Jeffrey, it doesn't become you!” said God. Then she headed towards the entry. “Let's step outside for some fresh air.”

Letting it go... (06 March 2010) (Read this blog)

“God damn it to hell on the fast train!” I shouted in anger at the cup of coffee I'd just spilled on my desk. And in an instant, I found myself riding on a fast train across an ever changing surreal landscape rich in strange rock formation, vegetation and buildings. But completely devoid of people. Across from me, not surprisingly, was God wearing a girlish smile across her face.

“Ok,” she said. “Let's go to Hell. You're on your way there anyway. This will get you there faster. But I don't think you'll like it very much.”

“What?” I said. “I'm on my way to Hell? I can't believe that! I've always striven to be a good man, father and husband – although it seems I've failed more than once in the last category.”

“You really have to get away from these outdated Christian notions of yours,” God said. “You know by now, they are based on the misconceptions of nearly 2000 years ago.”

I looked out the window and noticed the landscape that was thundering past was getting progressively darker.

“Your anger is putting you into your own personal Hell, isn't it?” Asked God.

“Yes, it is,” I confessed.

“And you are not getting anything done, are you?”

“No, I'm not,” I confessed again.

“You have so many important things you need to do, Jeffrey. You have your children to raise. Your business to run. Your club, which brings happiness to many people, to run. And, of course, you have my word to spread. Yet you waste so much time mulling over such a trivial matter.

“That endless mulling has made you absolutely miserable to yourself and your children. And as you fail to accomplish more and more as a result of your anger, you become more frustrated and more angry. That is not doing anyone any good at all. Least of all you!”

The train slowed and pulled to a stop in front of a curious, stone train station. “Let's get out here for a moment and go for a walk,” She said.

We disembarked onto a platform that was covered with curious Roman style tiles decorated with images of gargoyles, distorted humans and other unattractive images. It was very, very worn. We passed a ticket both which was closed, left the station and walked along a road past stone houses vaguely reminiscent of the ruins of Herculaneum.

We walked in silence and, as had been so often happening at that time, the events of the past weeks that had made me so angry came to mind again. Soon, the surroundings faded from view and perceived hurts took their place until I felt a scratching, tickling sensation in my hand. Knocked back to reality – or at least the reality of this surreal landscape, I stopped and raised my hand, which had tensed into a clenched fist. Investigating the tickling itch, I opened my fist and a small white bird was standing there there, chirping quietly.

“The bird,” said God. “Is your hurt. As you can see, it is nothing terrible or evil or even very big. It is a tiny thing. And yet it has occupied far too much of your brain for far too long. Now let it go!”

I swung my hand gently upwards and willed the tiny bird to fly. It did. And as it rose higher and higher, I felt the tension begin to drain from my body like a great flood. Indeed, I had no idea how seriously my anger had tensed me up.

Don't get me wrong. The tension did not leave completely. But I felt a remarkable sense of relief and suddenly my brain was free to focus on more things. Indeed, I felt almost embarrassed by how much time and mental effort I had wasted on my anger.

God smiled one of her warm, maternal smiles at me. Then she reached into her shirt and pulled out a beautiful gold pocket watch. “Oh dear! Look at the time,” she said. “We have a train to catch.” So, we turned around and headed back towards the station.

Again, we walked in silence and again I found my mind wandering towards the events that had so infuriated me. And again I felt a tickling sensation in my hand. I raised it to find another white bird standing innocently in my palm. “Away with you,” I whispered, blowing on the bird and sending it to the sky.

“I'm afraid your anger is too deep and you, Jeffrey my dear, are too emotional sometimes. The anger will not leave with a single bird or two. It will try to sneak back in and occupy your mind. When this happens, you need to set it free as you have just done. In time the anger will diminish to manageable proportions and you can deal with it or forget about it as best suits you and the circumstances.”

Before long , the train slowed gently to a stop. God kissed me on the forehead and said, “this is your stop Jeffrey. Goodbye for now.”

“Goodbye, God,” I said, knowing I'd be seeing her soon.

In the Beginning (04 March 2010) (Read this blog)

God and I walked along a golden beach beneath rich orange sun that seemed rather bigger than the sun should normally be. But I've never been sure of the reality of the landscapes upon which She and I walk. I only know they are jaw-droppingly, stunningly beautiful.

“So,” I asked, after we had walked in silence for some time. “did you create the heavens and earth in six days are rest on the seventh?”

“Heavens, no!” She exclaimed with an ungodlike giggle. “I didn't create it at all, of course.”

“Well, where did it come from? Are the cosmologists correct?” I asked.

“For the most part, they are,” She said. “Some of the details are wrong and scientists in your time are only grasping a small part of the energies that were involved in the big bang and which still exist now.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The big bang was the result of an incredible amount of mental energy that could not exist outside of time and space,” She explained.

“I see,” I said, not sure if I saw at all and wondering why I even bothered with white lies with God. Surely She would see through them more readily than my ex-wives and girlfriends who also had a knack for seeing through me.

“In the beginning,” she began, “neither time nor space existed. There was only a massive intellectual presence – call it the Intellect – that existed within a singularity. This was me, but much more. At that time I was truly all knowing. But so much intellectual power, emotion, love, hate and curiosity could never exist within a singularity. The mental energy was too great. The singularity exploded in what the scientists call 'the Big Bang'.

“It was a chaotic thing, really. Not the sort of event a god would create at all, if she could control it. The explosion created space, time, matter and eight types of energy,” she continued.

“I thought there were four types of energy: electromagnetic, gravitational, weak and strong,” I said.

“Well, yes. Scientists in your time are familiar with those, of course. But there are four other types of energy associated with the Intellect and consciousness” she explained.

We walked in silence for a moment, admiring the waves gently curling onto the beach.

Soon she continued. “The explosion tore apart the Intellect and scattered it amidst the molecules of the Universe, but in a...” and here she paused for a moment. “let's call it another dimension that connects sentient begins.

“Each of these tiny shards of the Intellect became or will become the intellect in a being.”

“And when we die?” I asked.

“When you die, your intellect leaves space-time and becomes a part of the Intellect in the singularity. Indeed, it is this coming together of all the shards of Intellect in the singularity that creates the mental pressure that causes the Big Bang, which creates space and time. It is a cycle.” She explained.

This was quite a concept. “Is it a single cycle?” I asked.

“No, every cycle is different. But since each is of its own space-time, they all exist in parallel. Scientists working in quantum mechanics will work this out soon.” She said.

“That's absolutely mind boggling,” I said.

“I know,” she said as we came to a tiny yet elegant wooden table, covered with an Indian patterned cloth and supporting a bottle of red wine and two glasses. “And I've simplified it. But don't worry. It all works out most elegantly. Now let's have a glass of wine and admire the sunset over there.” She pointed to the horizon.

It was a fantastic sunset and an incredible bottle of wine.

Talking Sex with God (02 March 2010) (Read this blog)

Since my conversations with God usually took place during walks across stunning landscapes, I was surprised on one occasion to find myself in bed – well, on bed – with God. We were in a large, airy and warm room in a building with stone walls and a tiled floor decorated with traditional Iranian style carpets. A large, glassless window overlooked a beautifully desolate city. Not a person was in sight.

The room contained a large canopied bed and a couple of simple yet elegant chairs all made of wood. God and I sat on either side of the bed. Very chaste.

“Why is it,” she asked, “that so many of my children – and especially those who claim to be most devoted to me – have such hangups about sex? They seem to think it is a nasty, evil thing! But sex can be so beautiful in its action and in the fact that it results in a child.”

“Such people believe that the act of sex should be between husband and wife only,” I said.

“Oh that's nonsense,” said God. “How can young people find partners with whom they are truly compatible if they cannot try out love making with potential partners?”

“But in the ancient religious texts, it was always stated that sex should be between man and wife. As you know, religious zealots have been reluctant to update their thinking or their texts,” I noted, reflecting back to my fist conversation with God.

“Well, I didn't say anything of the kind,” said God. “But the world was a different place then. Although sex is beautiful, it can also have consequences, such as sexually transmitted disease and unwanted pregnancy. So, it made sense to be careful about sex and, especially for a woman, to ensure she had a reliable partner for raising and providing for the child.

“But today, birth control options allow couples to enjoy sex without the consequences that my children of times past suffered. When will you, my children, grow up?”

“So, you don't feel that sex is anything to be hung up about?” I asked God, noting that in the soft light of the room, she was beginning to look most attractive.

“No,” said God. “But sex with God would hardly be appropriate!”

“Quite,” I thought as I walked to the window to admire the strange view on last time.

Olympus Mons (Picture Courtesy of NASA -- I had no camera with me at the time!)

Mount Olympus (25 February 2010) (Read this blog)

I was roaming across the hills of the Ardennes and, to be honest, feeling a little sorry for myself as I am want to do from time to time. The past year's financial crisis had seen business slow down and prospects for the coming year were uncertain at best. Add to that the concerns of a single father as to whether he is being a sufficiently good parent together with a general feeling of melancholy and, well, as I said, I was feeling sorry for myself. My self esteem was not what it could be. And when you want to tackle the world, your self esteem really needs to be in good nick. So, I was walking through this lovely, hilly landscape as a distraction from my concerns.

I came across a beautiful valley and was getting lost in the infinite variety of greens in the trees and grassy fields when I felt someone hug me from behind. The warmth filled my body and I knew at once She was paying me a visit. Nevertheless, I turned around to see her childish face whose eyes were wiser than wise.

Then there was a sudden, jarring transition, unlike the usual barely perceptible time-space transitions that usually occurred when God took me to a new reality. At the same time, I felt a loss of breath and an incredible coldness which lasted less than an instant.

Of course, I was somewhere new. Atop a vast mountain, possibly a volcano looking down over a dessert in every direction. The sky was red and the sun far too tiny. I sincerely doubted we were on Earth.

“We're not,” said God. “We are on what you call 'Olympus Mons'”.

“But that's,” I began in disbelief, yet the evidence was there.

“Yes, Mars. Isn't it beautiful?” She said.

“Out of this world,” I commented, not intending the pun. Olympus Mons is to our knowledge the largest mountain and volcano in the solar system. The view was stunning. It brought tears to my eyes.

“But how are we breathing?” I asked.

“Don't worry about that,” She told me. “Omnipotence has its advantages.”

Then she looked at me with her amazing eyes, “and don't worry about yourself, Jeffrey. I know you are going through a difficult period, but I also know that you are not giving yourself the credit you deserve for all that you have accomplished.”

She gestured towards the sky and I saw briefly the loves of my life: my two sons. “You have largely raised them yourself, sacrificing time from your business, nights out, opportunities to travel and much more.”

“And I don't regret a moment of that,” I said.

“Of course you don't,” that's why they are such wonderful children. And wait to see what they will accomplish as they grow older. They are my children too, you know, and I am also proud of them. As I am proud of all my children.”

Then I saw my old office in Bangkok, with that remarkable team of people I had working with me in the 90s. While I watched this image in the sky, like a great cinema screen, those one-time employees aged, and I could see they had all succeeded professionally in the decade since I had sold the business and left Asia. Several now had families.

“You employed those people in your company,” She reminded me. “You gave them not only income, but skills in new technologies. And they have all bettered themselves.” Then I saw for a moment, G, the young messenger who was always getting himself into trouble (indeed, we once had to bail him out of jail!). He clearly had not done much better for himself.

“Well, maybe not all of them,” admitted God. “But nobody is perfect. He will eventually become a monk and find peace with his own understanding of me.”

And so it went. God showed me images from my life, many of which I had forgotten. And I realised: not only had I done much for my own life, but I had given others the opportunity to better themselves as well. And I felt a glow of pride, which made me feel slightly ashamed – my father taught me not to gloat.

“Don't be silly.” God interrupted my thoughts. “Your father, like you and your sons, is a remarkable man. But he was not always right. He taught you too much modesty. So you fail to acknowledge much of what you have accomplished and focus too much on what has not worked in your life. It should be the other way around.

“Everyone's life is a combination of failures and successes. It is best not to get bogged down in either. And critical not to moan the failures”

She took my arm and veered me along the rim of the volcano. “Come,” She said.

As we walked, I looked down into the crater and saw images that reminded me of unfinished projects that were stressing me out; a person who I felt was holding me back from important goals I needed to accomplish; and other elements of my life that were then causing me frustration.

“Many of these things are doing you no good, Jeffrey. They are preventing you from accomplishing what you need to accomplish in your life,” She said.

“And what is that?” I asked.

“You must share my words with the world,” She said, matter-of-factly.

I expect I looked a bit disappointed.

“Among other things. Among many other things. Fear not, Jeffrey. You are not a messenger. You have within you the ability to accomplish many more great things in your life. The question is: will you exploit that ability or waste too much time in self pity?

“After we part, I want you to make a list of all of your accomplishments, especially those which have improved the lives of others. And I want you to frame that list on your study wall. There you will see it every day. That will heal your self confidence and help you to believe in yourself again. You need this.

“And you must rid yourself of people and projects that are holding you back from new accomplishments. You know who and what they are. The people may be hurt. But collaborating on life or business with people who do not mutually help one another is doing no one any favours. Better to find people with whom you can grow and projects that will lead you to greater things, rather than hold you back.”

“Then you will be ready to undertake new, greater tasks, like spreading my word,” she added with a wink and a smile.

In silence, we walked along the rim of Olympus Mons for a while longer. The view was stunning and inspirational and soon I itched to get to work with all I had learned on this walk. Perhaps God sensed that, for she kissed me on the cheek and said: “well, get to it then!”

And with another jarring transition, I found myself back on a hill in Belgium. I quickly filled my notebook with my memories of this talk. Then headed for my car. The Ardennes were, and are, beautiful. But I had much to do in order to add beauty to my own life.

Killing in Her Name (22 February 2010) (Read this blog)

While taking a meditative walk along the village lanes of Erps-Kwerps, I heard God call out my name and soon found Her hand in mine as we walked along a very different dirt road that appeared to be in the same place I had just been. Gone were the modern houses, replaced by considerably more trees, fields of crops and a very few mediaeval style houses. Presumably God had brought me to another time. However, I saw no people anywhere during our walk. I would eventually grow used to Her habit of taking me to other times, other places and even – on occasion – other worlds. Whether or not this served a purpose, I do not know. God does not inhabit time and space as do you and I. She may simply not have realised that she was pulling me across spacetime whenever she called upon me. Fallibility, I expect, is a part of Her perfection. Just as we, Her children, learn from our mistakes, She must make mistakes from which she learns. How else might a god claim such omnipotence?

“I do not understand,” said God, diving right into a new conversation, “why so many of my children do such horrible things in my name.”

“You mean like terrorists?” I asked.

“Yes, terrorists. But also kings and queens. Presidents and preachers. Others. Many of my children use my name to claim unwarranted power. Then they slaughter, rape and otherwise hurt my more innocent children. These leaders steal from the poor and weak in order to empower themselves. And they do it in my name. I simply do not understand. I never expected this.”

“I expect those who believe strongly in a faith believe that they are doing you a favour by harming those who do not share that faith,” I said. “But as an atheist – at least until recently – I've never understood either such people either”

“You may continue to be an atheist, Jeffrey.” God told me. “I may well not exist.”

“What?!” I exclaimed.

“But those leaders who, so hurt you my children in my name, rot in their personal hells after they die. For they come from a very evil part of our primordial beginnings,” continued God, completely ignoring my question. (She would explain “primordial beginnings” on a future walk).

“But the thing that confuses most of all about my children who do such terrible things in my name,” she said, “is that I have no name. I simply am. And no matter how many of my innocent children that my evil children kill, I shall continue to have no name. Nothing will change that. Indeed, I may not even exist.”

With that, a gust of wind nearly blew my jacket off and I again found myself walking the lanes of Erps-Kwerps alone. I had much to consider and decided to take the long road back home.

Saying Goodbye, for now (20 February 2010) (Read this blog)

I was deep in contemplation of all God had told me while She and I walked along that mysterious beach beneath the ever changing sky. I suspected that this beach too existed out of time or in another time when humans did not occupy the planet, for it seemed so empty and desolate in spite of its warmth. I doubted that such a magnificent shore could sit unoccupied by bathers anywhere on Earth today.

So, I was surprised when God took my hand and pulled us away from the beach, through a grassy patch of stones and to a very typical white picket fence with a gate in front of it. “I will leave you now,” said She. Go through the fence and you will return to your place and time.”

“But, I have much else to ask you,” I protested. “Could we not speak longer?” And I confess, I felt great comfort in holding her hand, I felt the comfort of a child holding its mother's warm hand in a mysterious place.

“Oh don't worry,” she laughed, more like a young supermarket cashier than a mother. “we will meet many more times in many more places, for I have much to tell you. And you have much to learn. But our time for now has come to an end.”

She paused and looked at me. “Don't look so sad, she said. All good things come to an end. That is a good thing, for it means that new good things may begin. If we always strive to keep everything as it is, we never grow. But if we allow good things to end, we can embrace and begin new good things. ”

“But not all things we start are good things,” I noted, reflecting upon the history of mistakes, disasters and disappointed ex-wives and girlfriends that littered my lift.

“No, but bad things also come to an end. And very seldom are they entirely bad. Indeed, bad experiences, particularly if they result from our own actions, teach us much. As you say in English, we learn from our mistakes. That is true. We learn much more than when we do things right.

“Oh, and don't worry about those women. They also made mistakes and they have all been touched by you in special ways, just as you have been touched by them. They are happy in their lives. It is you, Jeffrey, who sometimes lacks happiness. You perhaps expect too much.”

“That's true,” I noted. And, I realised, I had to make dinner for my own children who would be home from school shortly. “When will I see you again?”

“Soon,” she replied. Then she kissed me on the cheek, smiled like a child and pushed gently me through the gate.

I found myself back in the supermarket checkout queue with a very different and less friendly woman running my last package of pasta across the scanner.

“Euro 39.50, Alstublieft” she said (for the supermarket was, and still is, in Flanders).

“And damned good value for that!” I exclaimed in English, thinking about all had learned speaking with God.

“Wablieft?” the cashier asked.

“Niets,” I answered while paying for my groceries. I wondered if I really would visit God again and when. Fortunately, I did not have to wait long.

We walked along the beach (18 February 2010) (Read this blog)

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?

Yet you my children place more priority in how the others believe in me, in what rituals they perform rather than in loving each other As if I care whether or not anyone believes in me! What loving mother cares more that people believe in her existence than that people treat her children well?”

An avowed atheist for years, I was relieved that God seemed unconcerned about my lack of belief. I only hoped that I had led a sufficiently blameless and noble life so as to be accepted by her. Yet, I was also curious. There are many branches of Christianity, not to mention Judaism, Islam, Hinduism and many other beliefs. So I asked her, “I have read up on many flavours of Christianity and know something of Budhism, Islam and Hinduism. Which is the true faith?”

She put her hand on my chest, over my heart and said, “you are.”

I told her: “I have not been on this Earth – well, my Earth – for half a century. Jesus died 2000 years ago, Moses and Buddha led their respective followers long before that. Surely, one of the many faiths is closest to your truth, God,”

“Oh,” she laughed, “They are all correct and yet terribly wrong at the same time. I spoke with each of them and others over the millennia. Each has understood me in the context of his or her time and his or her misconceptions of reality. As quantum mechanics is teaching you, numerous realities can exist simultaneously. Indeed, they do. And across those realities and yet tying them together are a near infinite range of variations of Me.”

We walked along in silence as the clouds in the hyper sky changed shape and colour with remarkable speed. On moment, we were in a dark blanket of storm clouds. The next sunlight came streaming through, drenching the beach in a yellow-orange glow.

“Siddhārtha Gautama was closest to my beliefs and told his follows to love, not to worship. But you, my children, seem to have great need to worship.” She said. “For now most Buddhists worship statues of the old boy.”

“Jesus was a fine young man and my son, although so are you and so are all my male children. He believed in my words with great passion and gave his life to teach them. That was rather going to extremes. And it is sad that his variation on my words was been so distorted over time that their value is lost in rituals of wine and bread, curing miracles and other nonsense.” She said.
“How you my children believe in me is not as important as loving my other children. Is this not true of every parent? When a mother's child is lost in a big city, does the mother care whether or not a stranger believes in her? Or does she care that the stranger protects her child?”
“What about atheists?” I asked her. Surely they are not acceptable to you.

“Nonsense,” she replied. The atheist who nurtures my children and strives to make the world a better place shall be welcomed to my kingdom with full honours. While the devout believer who kills in my name shall be stricken down into his own personal hell.”

“Personal hell?” I asked God. “Is not hell a community of damned souls.

“No,” said God. All of my Children are welcome into my kingdom before and after they spend their time on Earth. “But those who are evil are destined to live in their own personal Hells until they are able to achieve personal redemption.”

“How long does that usually take?” asked I, being overly analytical as usual.

“Time has no meaning in my Kingdom,” she answered. “Souls exist there for less than an instant and all of eternity simultaneously. The exist before birth and after death all at once in the primordial atom that exists when time and space do not.”

On a cold winter's evening in a dreary supermarket... (16 February 2010) (Read this blog)

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

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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