what if god said yes
what if you got quiet. what if you got so quiet and you curled up in a little ball in your bed with a stuffed animal or a blanket or a pillow and you said, “god, can we talk?” and because god is you and you are god you didn’t have to wait and you didn’t have to go anywhere at all and—“yes,” god said. and you said, “god, i want an apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.” “god, i want the boy with the kind eyes and tattoo-covered arms and exquisite taste in music.” “god, i want to feel alive again.” “god, i want to travel first-class to switzerland.” “god, i want a hound dog named finn.” and god said, “yes.” and you said, “but how can you make this happen?” and god said, “i can make anything happen.” and you said, “quickly?” and god said, “i love you. why would i not make this rapid?” and you said, “i can trust you?” and god said, “like your life depends on it.” and you said, “my life does depend on it.” and god said, “i know. i’ve got it now. you’re safe. let me take care of it.” and you hugged god. and god hugged you. and you hugged yourself. and you drifted off to sleep saying, “i have it. i’m safe. i have it. i’m safe. i have it. i’m—” and you woke in the morning and the world was new. because you knew it was done. because god said yes. and god never goes back on a yes unless you tell god “no.” and any time throughout the day you thought, “is anything happening?” god said, “it’s all happening.” and you said, “but i can’t see a thing.” and god said, “i am your eyes.” and you said, “but i don’t have to do anything?” and god said, “you did the only thing needed.” and you said, “but what about my thoughts and my state and acting as if?” and god said, “i love you.” and you knew what that meant. so instead of worrying or wondering or obsessing another second, you went to the bakery and bought a slice of chocolate cake and drove home and sat on your back deck and ate and ate and watched the sunset and celebrated.
