On the evenings when the skies were clear, the winds were right and the moon had not yet risen, the boy with no memory would unfurl his gossamer wings and fly to the heavens where he would sit for many an uncountable hour conversing with God.
Their conversations were varied and absurd…the boy would ask about the need for suffering in the lives of so many humans and otherwise. God would respond with answers that were unsatisfying and puzzling.
In return God would ask about the draw of a good hot curry or a dark ale and the boy, such as he was, would respond with what he had heard to a just as puzzled and unsatisfied God.
And so it would go night after night with the boy returning before dawn and awaking with no memory of the nocturnal ramblings other than a strange feeling of restlessness.
Over the years these things continued through the lives and deaths of the boy’s loved ones who, it seemed, were God’s loved ones as well. They would get together and weep and wail over the pain. They would sometimes rail against each other’s uselessness in the frail lives of their friends and counterparts and occasionally they would simply sit in muted and stubborn, angry silence staring accusingly at one another.
More often than naught they would come around and share tales of their respective realms with the boy attempting to explain the magic of cellular phones and the new quantum physics which attempted to define his counterpart’s work while God listened attempting his best at appearing to understand but clearly being lost most of the time and simply enjoying the pitch and cadence of the boy’s voice.
God in turn would attempt to impress upon the boy how he had always been having this conversation with him while simultaneously getting to know each and every other life and speck inside and outside of the universe for an eternity. That he had seen and felt all things at once and forever and still it brought neither satisfaction nor understanding.
These things only served to give the boy a headache and when the conversation would come to such a point he would often beg forgiveness and make up an excuse of having to leave early to go to the bathroom due to some bad seafood that day and of course heaven having no such facilities it seemed reasonable. God would always smile and wave the boy off of apologizing while the boy would turn and slowly drift back to earth where he would once again promptly forget the whole thing and have to repeat it again the next night.
Year after year it continued with the boy always the boy despite his graying, balding head and withering body and God always God despite his continued puzzlement and wonder over the news the boy brought from the earth below.
So it went and so it went, in the mind of God it continued, long after the boy had died and turned to dust it continued unabated and God never noticed the absence because he chose to live in the eternal moment – too great was the pain of isolation and loss to choose otherwise…this was and is the way of God with each and every one but most especially the gossamer winged forgetful boy who would make God sneak into reality from time to time to have a pint and some curry to his satisfaction and wonder until, once in heaven, only to forget it all and need to repeat it over again.
Harnessing Chaos 