God’s Boobs

The empty grocery stores and continuing complete lack of effective spiritual awakening in the US thus far are two things that stand out the most for me about the pandemic so far. I’ve been social distancing myself for three years now and my lifestyle hasn’t changed much at all because of the lockdowns and such. I’m on a completely different coast now but I’m spending my days thinking too much, reading my Bucking Fible and watching every sunset that I can – just like usual. I’ve recently added prayer to my list of activities; as I’m finally experiencing a feeling of relation that doesn’t leave me feeling like one of my parts talking to itself and pretending there is a God. It feels good, scary and quite humbling when I manage to plug in and nourish my soul at his breast. And despite the growing voice and confidence I’m feeling on a daily basis, I know I’m going to have to stick to “milk” for as long as it takes to keep growing my faith. I have a long way to go but this is so much further than I’ve ever made into the realm of true belief before now and I am ecstatic to be here. Truly.

I feel connected with the Universe in a way that feels plugged in the “right way” and I’ve really only managed to get here since I unplugged from the Internet for the past few weeks. I’m still not sure if I can spare the emotional and spiritual energy that it takes to be out here again but I keep feeling led to be a “light” in the darkness; to be out here saying “God is real and he is a God of love and mercy! Take a tit!” to counter all the evangelical and other religious bullshit that is circulating these days. In rejoining the inter-life just a week ago, I was immediately struck by how, in a time of crisis and people LOOKING for good news, the christian voice in the US is still adamantly supporting a horrific leader, preaching that brown people from other lands are less than and the cause of all their grief, that gay people are unworthy of God’s love without changing themselves and blah blah blah… more or less just making God look like a straight up asshole. Who wants an asshole god? I don’t want an asshole god.

Since I’ve been paying attention, I can see that God’s good to me and when I ask him to, he leads me to places that I would have never even looked at without him. I certainly wouldn’t be sitting in my cute little airbnb on the coast of the Pacific Northwest and feeling like everything is groovy during a fucking pandemic if I were vibing so authentically and resonantly with an asshole god. I like God now. I like knowing he loves me “Just as I Am” and always has. I like gaining the understanding that the bad stuff and the hurt in my life wasn’t punishment for displeasing him. I like feeling worthy and loved abundant grace and mercy beyond measure. I like knowing, with a certainty that sparks like a raging burn in my soul, that most of the people out here on the internet today talking about God have no fucking clue what the Fucking Bible says. If they did, I think they’d be a little scared…actually, a lot scared. I like knowing he has a plan for their tired and wicked asses.

I have a stack of paperwork sitting on one side of my laptop and and over 900 index cards sitting in a filing box on the other side. Each of these cards represents one of my thoughts I had to “vault” in order to stop ruminating manically over it and the notebook pages are filled with hundreds of thoughts that I wrote out when my notecards were pack along with the rest of my stuff as I traveled here. These vaulted thoughts range from everything about how I will actually launch this website to something other than an online diary to things I want to tell people (because I’m usually up in the middle of the night thinking about what I want to tell them but trying not to be rude and interrupt their sleep with “Hey…remember that one time in October of 2013 when…”). Many of the thoughts are records of sudden startling experience and memory recalls that happen when my parts continue to get acquainted and I become more integrated; more “blended” as I like to call it. Most of these memory recall notecards are hard to follow because often, as the parts come together and share their experiences with each other, within my mind it’s much like the sensation of trying desperately to recall a good dream before you forget it.

To just give you an example, here is the notes from just one of my pages that I filled the second night after I arrived here on the coast (and procured my legal cannibis). They’re listed in the order they appear and, from the looks of it, were all written in one session…so this gives you an idea of how quickly my mind flips through the different parts’ thoughts and ideas. Getting high for me is like going into a conference with all of the parts attending and trying to take notes but there is no way to know for sure who is who and everyone is talking at once. I always feel like a frantic board secretary; trying desperately to keep up with my minutes…but while high. Much fun.

I could review movies and books! Read books and donate with a code written inside and ask them to find me somehow and then…

Fruits of the spirit in an app. Let’s others rate you by the fruit (or veggies) you make them feel with your posts. Have bonus words and phrases (“thoughts and prayers” would be a negative point value)

I need an email account!!

Christians over 50 who are busy judging others and being kook aid need to be careful Millennials and GenZ-ers will save the world by seeing the TRUTH and whooping their old asses with it. They will use it to shine THE WAY.

I don’t want to get close to God because I don’t want to feel him turn away from me or change his mind. So scary.


But I cannot shine a light because lighthouses have to stand strong during the darkest of storms and

I need God.

I can kind of track my thoughts and their flow through my notes but they’re usually all over the place like this. When I’m writing them down, I’m all excited about that day “someday” when I’ll figure out how to pull them all together and makes sense of them, but I never do. I just keep cranking out the disjointed and random minutes. Even today, I started out with an idea to write to you about something else completely different but hijacked my own letter. Maybe there is a part that seriously doesn’t want me to start talking like I know anything at all about God. Maybe, despite my 3 year journey here, that part is trying to protect me from making an ass of myself by thinking I have anything about God to say that (1) others would want to hear and (2) God would actually want me to say to them. Maybe my pride is in the way and I don’t want to let anyone know I’ve gone soft. Maybe I don’t want to be associated with the other dark voices out here claiming to represent God. And maybe, just maybe, I am still trying to just put my toe in the water rather than getting dunked.

But what’s really cool about all these maybe’s is that there is no longer a “maybe god is real” floating around with them. I know he’s real. How do I know? He’s within me leading me. He’s all around me comforting me. He’s before me as I nurse from his spiritual milk almost every waking hour. At this point, someone would have an easier time convincing my own foot is a lie than getting me to budge on my certainty that God is the truth. That, my friend, is the first time I’ve every said that “out loud” to anyone except the two times I tried to be baptized and tried to say all the right words to the preachers who didn’t know me but were so excited to dip me in their hot tubs for the “big show.” I haven’t told you my “dirty water” story yet, have I? I’ll have to make a notecard to remind myself…add it to the other 900 reminders of things I want to do and say before I die.

Well…I started out trying to talk about empty grocery stores and even emptier christians but ended up talking about asshole gods, app development, failed baptisms and God’s boobs. Yep…that sounds about right for me, doesn’t it? lol

Well maybe I can do the grocery story story next time. I hope so. I think I might be onto something here.