Confessions of God

It wasn't enough being a god. I wanted more.

And so, because I was a god, my desire was instantly granted. I imploded into human birth.

This is why we gods come to the earth, where all possibilities appear as separate particles, adamant as salt or sugar. We get to taste everything, not in one vast sugary sea, but in grains of pain and beauty, sorrow and joy.

We crush them on our lips, and taste them in combined opposites, granulating eternity into moments of time. God's can't do that. They cling to Oneness. But here on earth, we get to welcome Oneness as a chaos of exquisite quantum particulars.

Seven pandemoniums of singularity: eyes, nostrils, ears, tongue, skin, mind, me. Who am I to say what's happening? I'm too stunned, drunk, amazed. One who is both cause and effect has no business understanding.

I created this sacred mess. I blame no one. Just another fallen god following the only commandment: keep surrendering until otherness dissolves. So I fall in love with dying flowers, and the scent of silence. The roar of wild scarlet poppies. They tell me to shut up, but I keep talking back. While I weep over deer droppings, the doe and her fawn come silently to devour my garden. It is all so gentle and cruel. Here on earth, the only religion that works is walking barefoot in wet grass at midnight, un-naming the stars.

Beyond the rim of the rose cup, the atom grail, the chalice of a galaxy, I overflow. Globing the cosmos in a teardrop. Crucified where six directions kiss, pathways for angels to descend onto the cross of my flesh, every photon a center.

Abandoning the asymptotes of eternity, I curve my bewilderment around a moth wing, and alight on a petal of lupine. In this mountain meadow, I hear the gush of snow-melt under the stones. The sky beneath the moss, the flower of a cloud, my wing of listening, one trembling trinity.

The metamorphic mountain turns to mist, but the dew of awareness solidifies like manna on a twig. Matter dissolves in my eye, while emptiness condenses into diamond Self-beholding. True wealth lies in vanishing, priceless treasures fired in the kiln of impermanence. What is more dense than sapphire? Consciousness reflected on the mirror of consciousness.

I have abandoned the name and form of god to be awakened by a gnat. This planet is our hunting ground. I have come to annihilate you with my gaze, as you have come to annihilate me.

Our sparks destroy the world when past and future strike like hungry rocks. Embracing midnight, we become fire. If in your search for desolation you stumble on my bones, still warm, rub my ashes on your face. They will protect you. Then go naked.