An Experience

The God Spot

I spent today in another world, another universe, another time. It all started when the day refreshed much like a browser window does with an influx of new data. I awoke on my friends couch. The others were in the other room neatly tucked inside a warm summer’s morning bed. Its been a blur these past few days – something to do with my tempests under the control of the moon, some bitter lows like an aircraft caught in a hot pocket, that same old revolting self pitying, and then excuse making. We all reported to each other what we had forgotten from the previous night, found nourishment at a local smoothie shop, and went our separate ways. I found myself driving slow down sunny surface streets the same way old people do while they wait to die. And instead of turning down the street where I am visiting my parents for a brief time until my financial situation is cleared – I turned down a nearby canyon road. I found myself returning to a spot I found a week or so before: the God Spot, as I call it. It is here where I parked my exhausted sputtering vehicle and stepped out into another world. The God Spot is at the apex of a canyon hill – but is not the apex itself which lays a little ways ahead, or behind depending on your direction. No, the God Spot is a humble spot on the side of the final climb to the top. There is a small path and a mediocre clearing. But that is not why I came to it – I came to it for the view. Because you are so high there you can usually see above the clouds but not today. Today when I slowly stepped out of my rolling coffin I stepped into a heavy fog that was rushing over the hill tops. I quickly walked down the path to the mediocre clearing and it was the same. The fog was rushing from inside the canyon to the top of the hill and then was burned off by the sun. In a sense the fog was striving to die. It rushed up the beach of the hill like a high tide coming ashore. I was drowned. I fell to a sitting position beneath the oncoming flow. I then told God I would not leave until he spoke to me. I waited an unknown amount of time beneath the fog, not reveling in the fact I was at a greater altitude than those in their toy cars below me – but burdened by a silent God. But I had made a pact, so I asked questions: “Where am I going?” – “Where should I go?” – “Hello?”. Then after I had meditated I felt the small quiet voice of God tell me this very specifically: “I am bigger than you. You cannot push me around.” I sat there a moment not sure whether it was God or just my mind trying to not let me be disappointed. At last as I watched more of the fog commit suicide overhead I knew it was God. Quickly, I apologized to him for bullying Him and general evils done. I sat a moment longer looking out across the now almost clear canyon. I had never been there during the day before and thus had never seen the canyon fully unveiled. I watched as the fog slowly ran up and, much like an elegant dress sliding off a young woman’s body, the canyon began to be revealed. However, I got up, went to my car, and left before I saw all of her treasures. I did this because I felt I was undeserving to see the glorious view at this time. Perhaps later, my spirit will be at peace and bring me back for a better view.
I then returned home to my glorified bed-sit, walked in past my mother vacantly watching government propaganda on her small, black broken television, and went into my room where I began to conduct a symphony with imagined instruments digitally mastered for my enjoyment. I took a break from my composition to rest briefly and watch the thoughts of other people on a DVD. I dozed off multiple times but caught the gist of what the person was portraying – something about forgetting not being the opposite of remembering, but its lining. “So true.” I thought at the finish of the film.
And now, I sit in silence. My vague disconnected thoughts played out before me on digital paper written by digital hands of which I am the puppet master. I write this not only for others to read and maybe comment, but so that I do not forget what happened this day: July 5, 2007.