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"Life
as I see It" -
"The "God" Interview
Our Father interviewed by Randy Burns.
January 29, 2002. Somewhere near the beach."
Randy Burns
"Hey, God!" I
yelled, the moment I spotted him. I don't know what came over me, usually I'm
cooler than that. "Over here!" I shouted again, waving, like he was
obligated to notice me. God was bent over with his backside anchored to a big
rock. He was trying to fix his broken sandal. He looked over once, after I yelled
that second time. He did notice me, but his attention returned to the sandal.
I assumed, as if I were him, that seeing one of his own creations would be nothing
special. An artist gazing at a painting he'd finished years ago. A songwriter
listening to one of his old songs. Most of the magic would be gone for him,
I'm sure.
If he'd lost interest in this interview, pre-arranged somehow by Cardinal Blank,
so be it. Maybe some time to himself was needed. Maybe when you're God, that
luxury might be a pipe-dream. He'd promised me though, and I knew he'd keep
his word. The Word Of God. (It doesn't get better than that).
So, here I am, a living writer, and he grants me an interview! Should've been
a career breaker, right? Any questions were cool. However, he strictly banned
pictures. I didn't find out about that until I tentatively sat down next to
him. "And no written descriptions," he added. "If you try to
take my picture I'll kill you."
Man, oh man, God talking tough, he meant it too. I didn't expect it. There was no way to prepare for such an unexpected statement. His general attitude and personality had a knowledge base unknown to mortals.
"You'd actually kill me if I tried to take your picture?"
"Like that," he shot back, snapping his fingers with the answer. This was an odd cat. Not an ordinary odd cat at all. This was God! A disgruntled, tired old man with an extremely bad attitude. His face was a cross between # *%WHACK **%, what the hell? God had given me a shot across the back of my head! That son of a bitch hurt me...
"I told you no descriptions!"
"Oh shit," I said, rubbing my head. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."
"Well, you'd better
start thinking soon."
Man, I just couldn't believe it. I wasn't afraid of him, not a bit. Disappointed
and disgusted, yes, but the fear of him was gone.
"Now ask me questions," he growled, "ask, ask!. And don't forget, try anything funny.
"I know, I know,"
cutting to the chase, "you'll kill me."
My Interruption irritated him, but he let it slide. He did raise his arm with
an elbow out, in a mock gesture of retaliation. God was beginning to annoy me.
This was my Creator? I'll be honest, I was seriously thinking about giving him
a sucker shot. Just one to his head, wham! While considering his reaction my
good sense prevailed. He could send me to Hell for that, condemn me to Eternal
Damnation! That prick owned the cards. I would ask him questions only.
"Ready? You know the rules, now ask the questions." Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and threw his sandal away in disgust. Now he was pissed at his sandal!
"Okay, here's my first question. If you get mad at any of the questions I might ask, are you going to kill me?"
He smiled! "It's the questions you don't ask that'll kill you." He was shaking his head back and forth, like I should have known that. Like I was an idiot.
"All right" I said, rubbing my hands together. "Who or what made you God?" He pointed a long finger toward the sky far out over the ocean. "That did," he said.
"What did? I know what you mean, but being so vague with that answer leaves the question unsatisfied."
"Unsatisfied to whom?" God was playing me for a fool.
"To everyone that reads this!" That was an answer he already knew.
"Well, to hell with them! I'll be vague whenever I feel like it."
Yes, God was waxing indignant now. "Am I supposed to point someone out and say he did, he made me God? Or should I point to the stars and say they did it? Now you answer me, do you know for certain who created you?"
I didn't know how to answer
that, or what he expected from me. There was silence. Then God leaned in close
to me and prepared to speak. He looked me directly in the eyes and said, "I
did you idiot! Thought it was a trick question, didn't you?"
With that, he sat up straight. Straight as arrogance and pride can sit. Then
his face began to soften. With his right hand tapping his own chest, he spoke
again in a whisper. "Yes, I did."
I didn't understand what he was trying to accomplish. Did he care? Were we beginning to communicate, actually getting somewhere?
I continued. "Do you feel superior or more important than your creations?"
"No, and they are not my creations." Well, well, another answer that required an answer.
"You created me, that's what you said."
"I created you, yes."
God knew exactly what he was saying. The question was, would he explain it to me, or would he go back to pointing over the ocean again?
Then he chose to speak to me. Why then, I'll never know. This time, all of my heart understood him and all of his wanted to be understood.
"Listen carefully," he said. "If I knew where I was from, would I hesitate to go? Can you be sure that I'm not there now in the arms of my own mother?"
I had no answer, no questions either. The interview was over with, done.
"I'll be going now," I said. "And God, thank you for that last question." I meant it too.
"That's, thanks for
everything," he said quietly, "now you go home."
I began walking from him, content with the unquestionable belief that I'd heard
his heart speak. Before I'd gone too far, I stopped and turned around once.
For some reason I wanted to know what he was doing.
God was angrily searching the bushes for his sandal he'd thrown off in disgust. His back was to me. While one hand was pushing branches apart, the other waved me away. I stood there for a moment, shaking my head, then I turned back toward home.
I had nothing. After an
interview with God, I came back with nothing!
When I opened the apartment door, my dog jumped all over me. The affection felt
great. I held him in both arms until he was done licking me. Then I gave him
a few jerky sticks and he loved em.' We were good friends, Clyde and me, together
a long time. He fell asleep on the couch next me while I began to write down
what happened. When I was finished, I tossed it aside.
I ran across it again yesterday,
by accident. Maybe you'll find something in it, I fail to see its worth. ~
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