I saw God

I saw God.

I saw God in his kitchen. He was white Jesus with blue eyes, blonde hair and a Palestinian outfit. I don’t know what that is, but he was wearing one. He had just created the earth, it was a dark little sphere that hovered over the palm of his hand as he lifted us up, and in amongst the orbits. Our planet was alive, an individual, we were like the specially gifted. We started doing the ellipses; we were assigned time. God watched the wind and the rain and the oceans and the land appearing in the daytimes, he saw the little baby feet and the lines on our hands, the number of hair strands, he saw us in all hurt, love and other intimacy. 

And then we invented electricity and the lights appeared through the swirl of clouds. The cities expanded. Everything brightened, darkened and then burned to bright to see. 

And I woke up. The guy who comes to haul our garbage was yelling at the gate. 7:00 AM, an impossible time for me to wake up - this can’t be true? 

I went out all mopey and “morning dazed”, mopey even and shook his hand, confused out of my mind; I should have told him I saw God too.