for Him

For Him, the ebb and flow of the Atlantic tides, the pace of morning mists, the speed with which my nights passed or did not pass, and the very path of the Earth upon its ecliptic, were trivial matters in my reality over which He had full control. Who was I to argue with Him? Who was I to do anything other than listen and agree? He had written the rules reality was made to follow, and reality built the world I was made to live in. Did that make Him my God? Yes, I suppose it did, and one does not simply ignore the things one’s God vocalizes.

...

He said, “Rain always falls down. The gravity sucks the water out of the sky to fuel its thirst. Don’t you see, my sweet? Your purpose has been served; your value has been extracted.” Naturally, I believed Him and I was left to myself.

How do you fight a God? I did not know, so I began searching for answers. I lived outside day and night. I traveled the world. I spoke to the Earth. I slipped in and out from between the very folds in reality. I saw His heaven and rejected it: looking for answers in every place that could exist and then all the places that could not. All this I did without Him. Still He reminded me, “You are void; you have no use.”

How do you validate your existence if God does not believe in your purpose? I did not know, so I chose to discover. I stayed in the mountains and learned to pray. I abstained from speech, rest, sex, and drugs. I forgot my name and became a servant of those too good to walk the Earth. I refused food and water; I waited for the divine to teach me, to instill in me, or to give me a value. Still the rain fell down and He whispered in my ear as He feasted on fine fare: “Rain falls down, that is how the world works and I will not change it because you wish you could be extraordinary. Look at the other people on this planet. Do you honestly believe you deserve value over them? Stop praying to me for purpose. It is pitiful beyond belief.” I tried to plug my ears, but my frail body refused to move. So deprived of sustenance and so full of prayer it had become immobile. It asked to die, but my mind would not put my desires into actions.

How do you die if your body will not consent? I did not know, so I tried to coax it. Dying would not be so hard, I reasoned: but it was. He taunted me with knives, guns, and warm pools with cinder blocks; He tempted me with death. My mind needed no convincing, but my body would not move. It would not support a knife, a bullet, a rope... It would not be lifted, sunk, or touched. My mind had lost control; my body had filled with lead. I was a sculpture who blinked, breathed, and prayed. He said, “Death is your end, and your end is ready to come. It is waiting for you to stop fighting.” I craved his approval more than I had ever wanted anything. If I had to sleep in a casket to get it, I was willing to go there. Unfortunately, for the both of us, being scared of living was only half the story; I was just as terrified of death. He said, “The rain can only ever fall down, there is nothing left to wait for,” and I believed Him, but still I could not die.

How do you convince yourself to live when your God will not condone it? I did not know, so I asked. He would not answer. He simply reminded me that my time was useless, that I was valueless, that my faith was the only part of me that was worth anything. He said, “Your only value lies in your service of Gods and I do not need your belief.” I heard truth in his words and my statue slept upside down in the sky: suspended by its faults, its disbelief, and its own broken faiths. My mind was disconnected, and my body hung steady. I watched a rain droplet fall from the tip of its nose to its hairline. I felt its top lip grow slick in its newly uncovered cavity as rain drops touched the bottom of its curve. I believed that my rain was falling up. How foolish I must have been, how naive, how uninformed. “Rain can only fall down,” He had said, and He was right.

Naive as I was then, I replied, “Gain a new perspective. From where I look, Heaven sits in the realms of Hell, and if that can be so, then my rain can fall up.” He chuckled, and my bindings let me loose. I fell from the sky.

He said, “Come back down to Earth and I will show you my rules again.” Embarrassed, I hung my head. Hands pressed into a silent plea, mouth closed, hair gone, my body fell back into immobility and my mind wandered.

How do you pray when God does not want to listen? I didn’t know, so I stopped. No question, no exploration. I would have done anything that He had told me to do then. Perhaps I would have successfully died if He had tried one more time to convince me, but instead, I waited out the storms as they came and passed. I sat in the perfect likeness of a prayer, missing only the holy thoughts and words themselves. My mind was dulled; there were even times when it forgot to tell my lungs to keep breathing. He said, “Like this you are worse than before. Dance for me, my puppet, I wish to see you move.”

How do you dance when your body has fallen immobile? It was not up to me to answer that question. As a marionette with strings, I waltzed, tangoed, tapped, spun, and bent until I had perfected every move. My toes bled. My skin withered and cracked as it dried. My bones fractured, broke, and caved in. Still I danced: shoulders back, neck long, legs straight... Toes pointed, lips curled, fingers balanced... My puppeteer had me dance any and every way He so desired. He jested, “Welcome to the new chapter, my joker. Your rain has fallen down but that will not stop me from playing in the puddles.”

Where do puddles go? I was dancing, so I did not ask. I did not think. I did not do anything. I simply made dance the way elephants can be taught to make art; there were no emotions left to be expressed. I was dancing muscle memory while the artists danced their joys and sorrows onto a stage. He made me dance like swans, rabbits, winds, light, flowers, grass, and the ocean. He said, “You dance the ocean well, my sweet. Dance it once more.”

Why does the ocean never overflow? I did not know, so I danced. I danced the ocean and my consciousness began to stir. I danced thoughts of storms so violent they became serene, and sunrises so isolated they looked like desire, but when the storms were finished... Oceans did not grow. Where did the water go? I hovered on the edge of my stage. The great world lingering beneath me. I watched a cloud pass me by. What are clouds made of? I resisted the tugs He inflicted on my strings. One of them snapped.

How does water remain in both the clouds and the sea if both of them continue to cycle the rain? I did not know, so I danced. All of me danced the ocean, but my arm danced a cloud. My arm danced in perfect hues, pitches of grey, blue, yellow, pink, and moonlights. How does water travel from the sea to the sky? I rested on my toe, my whole body hanging over the edge. I was getting lighter. He tugged on my strings and one by one they snapped until only my toe dragged behind me; He had one string left and I was starting to float away.

How does one evaporate? Start anew? Begin again? I was learning, so I danced, and this time I danced for myself. I danced a sky. I danced the sun and the moon, the birds, the bees, the clouds, the winds, and the stars. I danced a sky, and my toe dragged behind me the whole time, but elegant, strong, graceful, and practiced. I jumped, tapped, waltzed, tangoed and pirouetted until I stood, arms out, on the edge of my cliff. And then I fell. I fell forward, towards the Earth and what lies beneath its crust. The last string snapped, but before I could arrive, I began to float. I floated towards the stars, and my bones mended, my toes healed, my skin glowed again, and my hair regrew. My lips, unsealed, drank water and ate food again. My mind remembered my body and my body gladly welcomed it back to its home. I discovered faith in a new way, and I forgot how to pray. “Rain can only fall down,” he said, “You have had your turn; you are void.”

I said, “I am no longer the rain. It is my turn to be the clouds.”