It was down on the railroad trestle, over the river. I was minding my own business, taking a leisurely Monday-afternoon stroll.
This was, like, half an hour ago. Maybe forty-five minutes. It’s about a twenty-minute walk, but I was waylaid.
Do you doubt me? I understand, but believe me when I tell you: I say it happened.
I was throwing rocks at other rocks in the water below, hoping to hear that magical “clunk” sound that rocks can sometimes make when they smack together. It was a contemplative, and at the same time violent, time waster.
I smelled something burning and I looked up and saw a bush with puffs of smoke arising over it. Not puffs, but a soft cloud. I thought the bush was on fire, but in a moment I heard a rustling, then a bright light pierced the sky above and a soft wind fluttered as though the universe had whiffled a fart right in my face—a gentle poot, pleasant of smell, a waffle of heaven’s intestinal deliverance. Anyway, suddenly there appeared a being, alight with…well, light, afloating above the grabbled ground, for that area has a lot of rocks lying about, as well as some old tin cans once used as bait cans by unknown fishermen. Make of that metaphor what you will. “Fishermen.”
He, and it was certainly a he—unless women grow beards these days, and that may be the case but I won’t speak to it here—He (and I will capitalize that word when referring to this celestial Presance—and I will also capitalize Presence AND misspell it from here on out, out of respect and cantankerousness) beamed his bright beams at me so I could barely see, but in time I made out a wizened face aglow with warmth and welcome, yet the crinkles around his eyes foretold of a skeptical, slightly damning air. The warm yet scolding gaze was what one would expect from the true deity.
Astounded, I stammered, “Who are you? What…are you…the pope?”
He laughed aloud, right in my face, at the notion. Here I was, having been farted upon and laughed at all in the space of a few seconds. I felt smaller than a raisin—a small raisin.
“Are you, then, something greater than the pope?”
To this He gave no answer but just shook his head in dismay, as if to say, “Shut up about the pope, okay? Just don’t bring it up again. Thanks.”
Now, our encounter lasted but a few seconds, and yet they seemed like an eternity. Not a long eternity—not like He bored me. More like a short eternity that was impressive and awe-filled—the good qualities of an eternity.
In the course of our afternoon together, He had many things to share with me. I don’t expect it would be easy for you to believe me, but I offer as proof a stone tablet that He wrote for me, right there, using his blazing finger. On it He wrote a simple truth that I took to mean all other truths were enwrapped within it. He wrote: “Thou shalt proceed with grace and beneficence upon the earth from here onwards, and thy people shall follow thee until the golden gates of tomorrow’s tomorrow.” At reading this, He could see my consternation, so He erased it! You heard me, He WROTE something into STONE, then He erased it from the stone. Like it was nothing. Like it was paper. But this was stone! MUCH harder to write on, and almost impossible to erase. Then He rewrote his command: “Get it together and we can do amazing things.” This I understood, and I happily accepted the stone to bring as proof of my bona fides.
Small sidetrack: the stone never made it back. Halfway home I realized I was tired and my elbow was throbbing so I buried it. I cannot tell you where, because I did not mark it in case some thieves came along looking for stones that were written on that they could get and sell. But it’s there. I don’t mind if you look for it. You can look for as long as you want. That could be a good thing for you to do, actually, just keep looking. I’d appreciate it.
unplugged, unhappy
But be not saddened, for there was another proof forthcoming. A gold parchment upon which was written a directive to us. I held it in my hands and rubbed it with my fingers and sniffed it with my nose and I tell you it felt like parchment paper and smelled like parchment paper—kind of a machinelike smell, but very “parchmenty,” if you know what I mean. Upon it was written, in bold serifed lettering: “Be Kind Unto Each Other.” Now, I’m sure we’ll be parsing that command for millennia to come, but to me it means to have a thought for your fellow man, and not just friends or others who do you a solid. I believe He implied (by NOT being particular) that we should strive to be kind to ALL “others,” including enemies and jerks. In fact, one could argue at great length and in a series of what I will call “epistles” that this statement can be shown to contain multitudes and it will demand multitudinous study and endless parsing. At least I hope so.
Where is this golden parchment? I forgot it where I was. My arms were full at the time, with the stone tablets and the golden plates.
Did I mention the golden plates? He gave me two of them as incontrovertible proof of his realness. Two the size of a ruler in length and half a ruler in width (twelve by six inches or so). Beautiful, shining, made of pure gold. On these were written nothing. He didn’t want to deface them. However, when I asked if there was anything He would have written on them if He weren’t so delicate of sensibility, He responded (not with words, but with telepathy): “Yes, I should like to fill them with rules of behavior and the proper dressing of food, as well as a laundry list of manners, and, finally, a few how-tos on killing one’s enemies and burying the bodies in a crouching position. The list is long, really, and would surely fill both sides of these beautiful gold tablets, cluttering them, destroying their aesthetic impact entirely.”
Where are the gold tablets, you ask? Unfortunately, they are lost to time. Yes, I know I’ve only been walking for forty-five minutes, but hey…time swallowed them up. I’m not sure where I was when I lost them to time, but it was somewhere between minutes thirty-two and forty-three, by my guesstimate. Please, do look for them. Look and look and look, but don’t stop believing or you will surely NEVER find them! As they say, “You can’t win if you don’t play!”
So there you have it. I met God down by the trestle and now I am here to share the good news. I’m not saying everyone should follow me, or give me something called a “tithing” with which to do as I please, but it wouldn’t hurt and I think it’s what He would have wanted.