I Saw God Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

I Saw God



The other day, I saw God busking in a subway station!
It turns out he is a pretty good singer-songwriter.
Most of his songs are hymns to Himself,
But, when you are God, what else is there?

I stopped and asked him what he was doing there?
(He had come a long way from that tree I last saw him under.)
He recognized me right away, which took me slightly aback,
Until I remembered he was God.
“Suzanne, won’t you miss your train? ”
“What would happen if you were late for work? ”
“Aren’t you worried the ripple affect could set your destiny off course? ”

Ready for that one I replied, “There is no course. There is only flow.”
“You are wiser than when we last met, ” he said,
And I blushed red, but before I let God’s compliment go to my head,
I returned to my initial pointed question:

“What on earth are you doing here, underground of all places? ”
“Are you trading jobs with Hades for the foreseeable eternity? ”
“No, unfortunately for him, Hades’ future prospects are still grim.”
Persephone will not be pleased to hear that, I thought, compassionately.

“I have appeared to teach you the lesson of the ant hill, ” offered God.
“How much do you know about New York City and its infrastructure? ”
“Not much, ” I admit, “Only the bits and pieces I pick up from films.”
“Well, that may be all you need to know for out purposes today.”

“Come here and sit at my feet, child, ” said the man who appeared half my age,
Sporting a tangle of dreadlocks and a very gamey, very human smell,
To the passersby, he probably appeared to be either homeless or extremely bohemian.
Feeling double my age these days, I obeyed,
Happy to be in the presence of someone who might actually understand me.

“You see, Suzanne, just as 9 million bodies can live and move about smoothly On an area that covers only 305 square miles,
Countless billions of souls can exist in me.
It’s all about efficiency of design.
Just as you pass through the same space on your way to work every day
And then return to the same safe haven every night,
Each soul has a home, which is kind of like a cubbyhole,
Or one of those capsule hotels you see in Tokyo,
But when not at rest souls roam.

But just like the customer turnover at Starbucks,
Many souls may reach the same level of enlightenment,
Or find the answer to an eternal question,
But then they simply move on,
Making room for the next customer, monk, or answer-seeker.

But more importantly, some never come in search of the Grail.
Some walk right by the Fountain of Youth.
Some hold the Philosopher’s Stone in their hand and decide it is valueless.
Some simply circulate in completely different neighborhoods.

So if Albert Camus wants to believe that life is meaningless,
Leave him babbling over his shot glass about man’s inhumanity to man.
If someone else insists they are The Light and The Vine,
Smile benignly and walk on by.

The reason New York City is the Big Apple
Is that there are wormhole-shortcuts to fame and fortune.
In the Bigger Apple, there are wormholes to whole new worlds.
Keep your eyes open and you may see what I mean.

And with that, he vanished,
Leaving me holding his hat
And the change it contained.

I wonder if that is enough proof to convince the world of His existence...

Thursday, May 28, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: god,grail,metaphysical
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Suzanne Hayasaki

Suzanne Hayasaki

Menomonee Falls, WI, USA
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