This is no April Fool’s Joke. I saw God tonight.

I saw God tonight. Apart from being ripped, he didn’t look as I’d expected. He was bald and blue-eyed with gesticulations like hip-hop beats that sent twitches through my body at the crescendos, and I watched him recite his poetry with tears botching my mascara because I knew: “This guy’s got it figured out. He knows who he is.”

He’s God.

La la la. Nothing new here. Each of us is God; and that fact is yours and mine to realize, which we’ll all do at some point, in this life or another. (Spoiler alert: I believe in Jesus AND in reincarnation.) I know it intellectually and could write paragraphs about the inevitability of eventual enlightenment for us all, but in my personal practice, it’s another story.

If only every cell of my being knew, really knew, my divine nature. Instead—just being honest—deep down I feel like any other temporarily-in-this-world person, just another humble human who’s separate enough to feel that “humble” is how I’m supposed to be.

But that guy, that guy* on stage at the Green Mill tonight, he was something else. He was supercharged with otherworldliness, with inner-worldliness. He was lit up from the depths of his insides with the purest, brightest light. I could tell from the chorus of mmm hmm-s and yes!-es and woo!-s in the crowd that I wasn’t the only one who felt it. And, while it inspired me, it also triggered in me a yearning so deep, so raw, that I couldn’t even contain my emotion—from giggles to tears—as I went to tell him that his poetry kicks ass.

Why did I cry while extolling him for what I saw in him on stage?

It all sounds completely effed-up-delusions-of-grandeur weird. Like, “get that poor, misguided girl a straight jacket and don’t be her friend anymore because she’s gotten weird” weird. But his performance hit me so hard because I saw him living my heart’s greatest yearning.

Deep breath, and this is going to sound ever so precious, but more than anything in the world, I just want to know God, really know my own divinity, so I can help others see the same in themselves. Does anyone else feel this way? I desire it so hard that I meditate every night and chant mantras silently in my mind throughout the day, all in the hopes of paving a path in my consciousness so that God will just motherfucking use me for some divine purpose.

I’ve always kept my God desires under wraps because, where I come from, you can’t have much fun with someone who’s, well, so religious. But then I see God in a movie-star-looking dude who makes time and space vanish into a mist around him as he spouts poetry about juke boxes in gay bars and anger and love and, yes, God, all of which melds so stealthily into extraordinary entertainment. And I think, “Ohhh, so that’s what that looks like.” And it suddenly seems kinda cool.

Not that I’ll ever be cool. I mean, not until I know who I am. But by then, being cool probably won’t matter much.

*That guy’s name is Buddy Wakefield.

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