Why I Came Here 
What To Do With A Wild God

It wasnít that long ago when we first met. It was a nice meeting, nothing extravagant nor too pretentious. It seemed the best way to meet. Out in the open where life could observe and maybe constrain the wild and pulsing energy sure to erupt. Maybe itís a rule on this world, one can never be sure, when gods meet.

I, being the intrepid traveler with volumes of worlds beneath my belt, came here fully aware and ready to make my peace. To open eyes and slay the beast. No longer would/could we forget what we have always been. I certainly apologize for any pain I may have caused. Even though unintentional, had I not been here, it would not have happened. At least not the way it did.

For many centuries I have left notes and messages for you to find. Ways of knowing beyond your kind. Visions of being beyond your mind. Hiding everything in plain sight. Hoping you might at least trip over it if you didnít see it first. Power is for the harmless and knowledge for the idiot. Wisdom belongs to age and children donít know how to die. Such a strange and wondrous world, by now it should be no surprise why I came here.

In all my travels I have never seen such a sight. A delight of innocence, Frightening beauty, One of a Kind. Some may say itís just a fairy tale, a happen chance, yet for me, I find it impossible not to love. And when I see her face, I find it impossible to want to leave. I could sit for eons, looking into her soft and beckoning gaze, feeling her warm and supple body within my arms. Our breath as one, locked in the cycle of accept/release the in/out of life.

Maybe it was a dare or maybe it was luck. So hard to say now, that I am here. The journey, like all others, leaves a traveler weary and tired. Finding her was not going to be as easy as I thought. So many sightings and so many glimmers, and glints, rays of light sparkling off my suit/vessel. How does it feel to be touched by god? Is it possible to live to tell about it? Such is the challenge of life everyday as far as I can tell. If not for the forgetting, there would be no life. How would it be possible to live less than in bliss? How would it be possible to live with fear? If not for having forgotten.

You have always been so very near all these years. Feeling as though I could reach out and touch your veil, and feel your breath on my face. I know we have flirted many times, dancing about the fires of nature and love. Fleeting glances and touches forever be mine, and then youíd vanish, another mind. Myself back to waiting for another time. Coy perhaps, or more misleading, intoxicated with the rhythms of life. Drunk on being.

Everything is both a challenge and opportunity, a twisted knot of what if's waiting to be unraveled. Iíve done them all, havenít we all? Thereís not a knot worth knowing if youíve done it before. So in search of a new challenge is what inspires atoms and particles smaller than those. All of existence merely their folly to find the golden stone. Dreams more real than memories of how we came to be. Eternally to dance in reflection upon the face of god.

I found myself immersed in this sea of infinite beauty and effervescent glory. Bathed in a light, softly golden, myself a speck of dirt, a bit of noise, a disturbance in the flow, a place where moments and space unfold. A fitting spot where god might stop, to dance and play. Not that itís easy being the damned, building castles of atoms to hold our own. Wondering which came first, the light or the stone?

Just a storyteller am I. Of all the many ways god has touched my existence. The most frightening was the story of life. And something called the search for the wild god. About some beings that happen upon a sleeping god in a place called paradise. Wondering why anyone would be interested in hearing about it. I have a new story, a new wrinkle, and a new way. Iím sure god will just trip the next time by. God I love stories and only the best kind. Trapping a wild god takes more than just a pile of innocent, suffering, forgotten, souls. Hell, thatís been tried so many times. Nothing like an inside joke to keep things moving along. Can you imagine what it must be like to manage a gazillion atoms and keep everything from falling apart. Well, thatís what a storyteller has to do. And while reality will tolerate some anomalies, god is a bit more picky and a wild one, oh my! Gotta have something substantial for god to stand on. Or is it sit, I never seem to remember. So the stories have to be complete with out any holes especially if you want to keep god. Well, I really didnít want to keep this wild god but she couldnít just be let loose on all of reality until she had been trained a little.

That's where you come in. You already know the life/essence within you. It has powered your life and given hope to your dreams. It has given you a place to build the manifestations of those dreams. You are the surface of the wild god, the edges, and the interface-changing god into reality. Sheís been trapped in this box. Entranced by this story. Here to listen and learn what happens when gods grow up. I love a good story and Iíll bet this will be a real awesome one.

We were destined to meet. I always knew we would. Over the years how much youíve changed yet your face stays the same. How far youíve journey yet your eyes still aflame. The smallest box I could find this god to contain was a bit under infinite with several knots and strings to hold it together. A great story I call the universe. Thatís where wild gods live. Never realizing they are still being hatched, normally, sleeping the whole way through, dreaming their lives away. Of course, this one was different. She was awakened too early and now must be trained or forever constrained.

God I hate that part. And who awakened her? It all feels like a dream sometimes. Reality painted on like some cheap makeup, smeared over bundles of energy. I see, coming back split in two. I never realized how distinct each aspect of being was. And now know where they intersect. Intersection is so important. Its the stuff realities are constructed from. Points of view. Melding together the inside and outside.

It is getting late and my sense of time is fading. Structured reality, while pretty and ornate, is just so much fluff. Bubbles of stuff barely there. So I turned up the volume on being and got myself ready to take a trip with god, leaving our footprints in the sands of time. Telling each other stories and playing in the wonderment. And after a while you asked me how I came to be. It made me laugh to think about it. I wasnít supposed to happen.  Who could have imagined distortions? Iím a spot, a place, in the stream. Where something happens. I am a stone.

You, you are the light, from which all stories come. You are the beginning and ending and all parts between. How nice you said, but such responsibility, how could I endure the pain. Relax, I said, life is just a dream. Its because weíre in this box. Which if you havenít noticed doesnít appear to have any seams. As I recall, about now, I remember that you have the key. A good storyteller doesnít reveal the ending too soon.

Besides, it's about time for the hatching. I wonder if all gods hatch the same? Finding a storyteller with them in their universe caves. A good storyteller stops any sequels early.

She was ready, great god, she be. With a simple twist the box was gone and I fell back into the stream. I wondered if she would remember the pebble she played with growing up to be.

Me, I was happy as any stone could be. Held in the hands of god for what must have been an eternity. Loved and caressed, warmed and polished, kissed and snuggled, all good things indeed. For me it was adoration, for her it was a dream. Yet in our world of differences, we shared eternity. Or so the story goes.

Well, what really happened was, we got separated when we got to the end of time. I had no way of proceeding and she just disappeared. Hence the story to get her to come back, so I can tell her where the key is. We never talked about being contained in a box. She may not even realize that she is trapped.

In the mean time doing my job, being a disturbance in the stream of energy I call chaos. God only knows, if I have a great story, some god might stop by and listen. Maybe even take me home. Good storytellers are hard to find. And great ones only happen when there is a wild god around. And how likely is that? Focus lost and energy waning, outside noises, only raining. Released before I could surrender. God you have to be quick to get ahead.

I really hope I didnít blow it by writing this story down. God, what a pain itíd be to have to come up with another one.


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