conversations with god
God took me to the beach to tell me about the sea turtles and the seaweed.
He told me that his jellyfish love warm waters, and that the birds were made to run in the sand before taking flight across the ocean. Some fish would school around a person in the shallow waters during summertime. The crabs burrow in the sand to keep cozy in the winter.
He mumbled for a while, whispering about why each grain of sand was unique and why the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Meanwhile I had a vision, prophetic or hopefully doubtful and naive, of his child drifting off to sea on a raft. How terrifying it would be to look out at the waters and not be able to turn back around to the sand.
I worried for his children, the ones who had lost the chance to love because of the massive sinkhole in front of me. I interrupted his speech to ask him, why not me?
Why do you bring me to the safety of the shore to tell me of what you’ve created, while my siblings drown in front of you? Will I, someday, get lost at sea too? Will the salt blind my eyes and water fill my lungs? Will my perspective of life shift just moments before I lose it all together? Or will you continue to hold your fingers over my eyes, shifting them only when the coast is clear?
“Do you wish to feel your lungs fail under the pressure of the water?” What an absurd question. Of course I don't, nor do I wish that upon the worst child. But why do I, only I and so many others, get to know how to swim? Have I contributed to some great cause in a past life? Was I a better man than I am now? For if merit alone is what saves my soul from getting lost at sea, I fear I haven't been good enough this time around. He silenced me then, and told me, “Some children must drown so that you know how to swim.” Bullshit, I thought. Something meant to sound profound that is supposed to be interpreted by someone who doesn’t know any better. So what of the men who have done worse than I? Will they be punished by the sea in due time, in this life or the next? Or do they know something I don't? Tell me, God, what do you deem right & wrong, and why? Tell me why my brothers and sisters will sink to the ocean floor, and I'll be given the pleasure of meeting the creatures that feed on their bloating corpses. And if you were so kind to me, kind enough to hold your hands over my eyes, why take them away just long enough to see that others know something I don’t?
I fear I spoke too much or got too mouthy. When I looked to him for his answer, he’d pursed his lips and walked off across the shore. How terrifying to think that God himself doesn't know what it feels like to drown, either.
