Coffee with God
I slipped into bed after praying again that night. The wind and the rain were hitting my window and I began to wonder why the room was brighter than usual, considering there wasn’t the summer moon glowing through the blinds. I started looking at the mess on my bureau; the books, the camera, the note I had saved from someone I had wanted to forget…all sitting there cluttered and not placed in any significant order. My wallet was hanging half off of the bureau and I got up to push it further inwards, in case it fell down, and got back into bed.
“God, why is my mind moving so fast tonight? Just let me go to sleep. Please. Forget about the other things I asked for and just let me go to sleep, I’ve got work tomorrow.” I fell asleep about two hours later.
I woke up at 6:49 after hitting snooze on all four of my alarms, each with about 13 different times to have an alarm go off.
Just as the ritual goes, I put in my contact lenses and grabbed my smokes off the bureau, then walked down the stairs to put on coffee while I take a piss. However, what follows is how my morning ritual was broken; and I cannot describe it too well without first explaining what was downstairs.
The fridge was opened and could see a man’s crack hanging out the back of his pants. He was wearing boxers and Levi’s. “Hello?” I said politely. He flustered a bit before closing one of the doors and standing upright and turning towards me. He was wearing a navy blue, dress shirt. It was unbuttoned and underneath there was not an undershirt. He had a large beer belly and was wearing a gold cross which was hard to see through his grey chest hair. His face was weathered, and he had a grey mustache which was yellowing from cigarette smoke, but he was handsome for a man in his sixties. His voice cracked at first but he cleared his throat, smiled and said “Hey there buddy.”
Me: Hey, uh, who are you?
God: I’m God man. What’s up?
Me: Uh, nothing, are you a friend of my Uncle Billy or something?
God: Eh, yea we don’t talk much these days though.
Me: Oh, okay…I’m going to have some coffee, you want a cup?
God: There’s nothing in the world I’d rather have right now than a hot cup of joe. Couldn’t sleep a’ fucking wink last night.
Me: Same here man. These days I can’t seem to wake up without three cups just to get my day started.
God: That’s too bad, something on your mind?
Me: Uh, yea lot’s a bullshit, you know. Is Billy not awake yet or something?
God: No, he’s at work, thought I’d talk to you for a bit.
Me: Oh alright, what’s your name again?
God: Name’s Luke, listen I’m tired man, and I’ll get right to it, what do you want from me brother?
Me: What? What are you talking about, you’re in my house and I’m a little sketched out right now about who the hell you-
God: Take a seat man. Relax, drink your coffee and we’ll chat.
I sat down at one end of the kitchen table, and Luke walked over to my end and took the seat right next to me. He smiled and I began to feel a little uncomfortable with him so close to me. I started to think maybe he wasn’t a friend of my uncle at all, but knowing my uncle, he easily could’ve been.
We both took a sip of our coffees and simultaneously said, “Ah…” in satisfaction. He glanced at me and smiled again, which made me feel a bit better and we kind of laughed.
God: You make a good cup.
Me: Thanks, I take my coffee seriously.
God: You take a lot of things seriously don’t you, except the most important thing…am I right?
Me: I guess, but I try not to take life not to seriously, you know? I mean I’m stressing out over all these bills, friends, girlfriends, family, work…basically money, and in the end we all die and all the stress is for nothing so I’m just trying to take every little thing with a grain of salt. Life shouldn’t be taken too seriously.
God: (Laughing) Ah, so I was right!
Me: About what?
God: The most important thing.
Me: Which is?
God: Life man…I don’t get you people, all of you. I hear it every second, in movies, television, online, thoughts, prayers, yadayadaya…why can’t you guys see that “Life” is the most important fucking thing in the world, in fact I take that comment as a personal insult, but I’m a bit sensitive when it comes to criticism. “Don’t take life so seriously man,” (He said sarcastically giving a peace sign.)
Me: So what makes you think it’s so important to stress about.
God: I didn’t say stress about it, but drink some more coffee, I already told you once but you were half asleep. Brother, I’m God, and I’m not doing the whole bullshit routine, “To prove it my child, when you were young I watched your sister push you and you choked on a piece of candy and your mother had to give you the Heimlich maneuver on the day of the Oklahoma City bombings…”
He winked at me after he said that, and I don’t know how else he would know that…my uncle wouldn’t even know that. I thought a minute about what to say but he continued.
God: Ah, you got it now huh? Listen, please don’t ask me about your future, or what happens when you die or anything like that. Anytime I fucking talk to someone they ask this shit and frankly the answer is, I don’t have a fucking clue! Haha, I’m an artist man, I just create, I don’t decide who buys my shit or even if it’s good enough to be sold. I just create. The rest just happens. I can see it happen, but do you really think I can help you fall asleep? I can barely get to sleep with all these prayers to me. That’s about the only thing out of this world I can do, hear the complaints and wishes.
Me: Well, why can’t you do anything else?
God: Well, brother, I’m here in your kitchen, talking to you when there is an infinite other places I can be. And the other questions I get from people like you are, “Why don’t you help the kids in Africa?” Or, “Why didn’t you stop Hitler?” I’m like, are you fucking kidding me? How can I do that man, like I said, I’m only an artist, I create, then all I can really do is sit back and listen. I can create myself as a human or being, but as you know, being a physical being is pretty shitty sometimes, right?
Me: But you’re here with me and we’re talking, and I assume you’re here to help me right?
God: Yes, but don’t you think I’ve done that with Hitler? Listen, I keep saying I’m God, but I’m a lot of words and things that equal what everyone has decided to call “God.” I’m the same as you man, just an artist. And just like Mother Teresa, Hitler and the Pope, you’ve got a conscience right?
Me: Yea. I’ve got a conscience.
God: Do you always listen to it?
Me: I try, but no.
God: Well, neither did Hitler when I told him it probably wasn’t the best fucking idea to follow through with his plans but at least I tried. You see, I’m just the conscience, there’s no angel and devil on your shoulders, just your conscience and your free will. Thoughts, just like art, as you know, can be interpreted in a million different ways. Some people think the Mona Lisa wasn’t smiling, some say she is, some think it’s an awful painting. I’m sure Leo da Vinci had his idea of what he thought it should be like, but he has no control over what interpretations people have on his work. And that’s exactly the reason why I can’t physically control this shit happening on Earth or in this or any other Universe. Sure, as your conscience I can whisper some little message or advice, but it’s usually things that you already know.
Me: Okay, but how are you physically here then, and how did you physically open up my fridge earlier, and how are you physically drink coffee with me?
God: Remember when I was Jesus and all the bad stuff that happened when I opened my mouth? I was a human being for fucking 30 odd years and it sucked and I couldn’t wait ’til I got out of his body. I learned from that experience not to fuck with my art anymore, but I still do it now and then on a smaller scale…I’m not trying to change my art anymore.
Me: Well, do you have a conscience?
God: I guess so, and I still don’t always listen to it. You see, now listen…everything is energy. You, me, this empty…mhmm…cup of coffee. We’re all energy that comes and goes in a millisecond. It’s exhausting but it keeps going on forever…life doesn’t but energy does. Hey man, my cups still empty.
Me: Oh, sorry.
I poured him another cup and we continued talking until he said he had to get ready for work. He was working as a mechanic. “I don’t even know shit about cars!” He laughed as he started for the door. Before he left, he looked at me and said, “Hey bud, one last thing: like you said, the bills, the family, the girlfriends…it’s all stressful. Try and let it go, but don’t let me hear you say that you don’t want to take life seriously. If anything, it’s the only thing that should be taken seriously. Just be sure to fill the cup of life with things you love, like coffee.” He smiled and got into a small, black Chevy pickup that was parked in my driveway. He gave me a peace sign after he lit a cigarette, then he backed out and drove away.
