For my writing program I had to write a 'credo' (translates literally 'I believe') It started by brainstorming films / books / stories that say something to us. To write 'I believe' statements. The final assignment was 2 pages of our personal experience that illustrates some we believe. Here's my story:
Disclaimer...I do talk a bit about my spiritual life in this...don't judge me ;)
The windows fogged as his car sat idle in the driveway of my on-campus cottage. We’d been there, I don’t know…an hour, a minute? It didn’t matter. We were in it hot and heavy, and I didn’t want it to stop. Ever.
“It”, of course, being conversation, and “hot and heavy” because it was deep. Very deep. In fact, C. and I were engaging in the second most intimate act known to man: we were talking philosophy.
We weren’t philosophy virgins, mind you. See, opposites attract even in conversation. He was the bad boy from Las Vegas who drank, had sex and didn’t believe in God. I was the Midwest Christian girl, who didn’t drink (much), didn’t have sex and believed in God…Thus, began the affair.
Every week he would drive me (the 3 blocks) home after improv rehearsal, we’d sit and talk for hours and then off I would go reeling into my cottage, breathless, and completely exhilarated, eager to face my roommates‘ endless questions of what exactly we’d been up to in the driveway for the past few hours.
C. and my conversations always began innocent enough. Talking about improv, pop culture, current events…but soon we always headed down that slippery slope that could only end in one place…dare I say…we talked about God.
I loved philosophizing about God. I thought if I worded it just right, showed the gospel as logical yet magical, he would convert, love God, and everyone would live happily ever after.
C., had no hidden agenda, he was taking an “Intro to Philosophy“ class, and he just enjoyed a good brain fry via deep thoughts. At the moment he was transfixed by Nietzsche’s theory of the Uberman.
As our conversation grew to a climax he looked at me so intensely I thought “this is it.” He’s got it, God had spoke to him, revealed his glory, and all that crap.
“Do you ever wonder if you’re “it”?” C. asked.
“’It?”” I asked .
“Yeah, that you’re the one, you’re God.” He asked no sarcasim, no hidden smile.
Silence. This was the most intimate moment C. and I had ever shared. As I went to answer with my intellect, my big words, and hopefully a little charm, I found I had already spoken.
“Yes”, my voice said without my permission. “I have. But the fact I ever had to wonder proves that I’m not.”
Silence. That simple realization was simply something I had never realized myself. I’m not God.
C. exhaled. “I’m not God”
“No.”
“I’m not God.”
“Nope.”
“Huh.” He looked into the distance.
We tried a bit to recover the conversation, but the innocence was lost. After an awkward time, I found my departure. That night I went inside my cottage reeling with realization. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops. But, when I faced my roommates’ questions of what exactly C. and I were up to, I didn’t tell them. It didn’t seem right to philosophize and tell.
