I’ve never been more nervous about an interview before. No matter how high someone was on the social ladder, I could always dig something up and have an insightful conversation with them. But what do you do when the person you interview is also the omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient Father of all creation? I mulled this question over and over again in my head while hastily trying to come up with appropriate topics that would actually shed some light on what’s going on inside God’s head. One out-of-the-ordinary thing about this interview (aside from the interviewee) was the location it took place in. Usually, I would meet with the person in their office, but since God didn’t really have one, it was decided that we would meet on neutral grounds. So at 2 p.m. sharp, I closed my eyes as instructed, and when I opened them again, all I could see around me were clouds and blinding rays of sunshine. My first thought was that I was in Heaven, but the solid ground beneath my feet quickly dispelled that notion. Looking around me, I saw walls and stairs climbing upward but not completely finished, most of them full of cracks or in ruin. I stumbled to the edge, wanting to take a peak, but I nearly had a heart attack as I realised that beneath was nothing but an endless fall with no ground in sight. Letting out a loud exhale, I finally started looking around for my interviewee, but there was no one in sight. A prickling sense of panic crept as I stood there, not knowing what to do, but finally I sensed someone’s presence. It was a weird feeling, knowing someone was there but not being able to tell where this knowledge came from. A chill ran down my spine; the omnipresent part seemed to be literal and, as it appeared, also bone-chilling. It felt a little silly letting the question fall into an empty space, but I was prepared for the bizarre. Turns out, I didn\’t have to actually come up with any questions. The moment I opened my mouth to speak, I heard the most delicate gust of wind, almost a whisper. It brought a peculiar smell that I couldn’t really place, other than knowing it meant something. I could practically taste the vibrant air around me. Shivers, breathlessness and immense premonition that I was missing something – I felt it all at once and separately. Before the mystifying sensation could overwhelm me, it was all over, followed by the most deafening silence that I knew I should understand. Once again, the weirdness of the whole situation only seemed to grow stronger and stronger. I stood still like a statue, frozen in the awareness that I had just witnessed something extraordinary. Something that, if I could just grasp the faintest slice of meaning, would change my world forever. But alas, it didn’t. It couldn’t, since I knew nothing about communicating with God. How could I? They didn’t really teach in language school how to extract sense and construct interpretation from ethereal sensations. No matter how hard I wish they did, the fact that I missed something that could change everything I know, everything humans know was infuriating. My first reaction was to be angry. To shout. To throw a tantrum like I’m a little kid, but I am but a little kid in contrast to Him. That’s why it\’s so enraging, so unfair. Because if I understood him, I could change things, accomplish greater tasks; I could be better, be more. But alas, I knew nothing.
Artykuł opublikowany w ramach konkursu pisarskiego „Język w biznesie i życiu”
Autor: Jakub Sufleta