Dear God,

I’m not sure why I’m here, do You know?

The silence here is deafening. People keep coming back here to watch though, even as I meditatively repeat the answer to the world’s toughest equation. The question and answer? It’s about One that starts with little ol’ me and it ends with a capital You, but who are You?

When I was a kid you were Jesus Christ, God’s Son who took my sin when You died on the cross, and you were also God and the Holy Spirit, three in One. You were a trinity of Gods and an infinite number of procreations. All of which had a predominately pronounced feMale attribute assigned.

When I was an adult you were Nothing, and no one. I was atheist and I was angry, You didn’t exist and there was no God with a capital Me in the middle. I was married to codependent creation, the idea of getting a “real” education, and smarter than the average bear.

Now, who are You to me?

I am an infinite number of ages, and now You are just “God”, without a name, form or void. You hold my hand, though I’ve never seen You without seeing a bit too much of Me in You too. And when I wake up at 10pm at night after falling asleep to the television again, then can’t sleep for fear that I am going crazy over You, it’s You to whom I write. Is this a crazy test?

Did I pass?

I don’t feel I got it write some days. Like today, Test:20180306 when the world felt indescribably boring and monotonous for a tuesDay after another Tuesday. Boring is my own fault, I kNow. After all those doses of supplements to tell me otherwise, I’m still feeling a bit detached from my yesterdays and my tomorrows. Is this my present for being present?




Over & out,



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