Gazing out my window at dawn over the mountains, grey skies layered with white brilliant, blue soft, and soaring birds.  So the Divine wants to know what it is to be human, huh?  How about this tired old body, this dull brain, the limbs that want to stay motionless while the brain keeps nudging with things to do, watching the hysterical facade of time.

It’s a bit funny to be Spirit inside this little capsule of protoplasm, hot then cold, amazed at the amount of clutter on the desk, piles of paper that may only be touched when I move from the house.  Tiny yellow buds wet with rain sparkle like crystals in the yard.

Universes within glances, endless possibilities sitting on my butt tired.  How do you like your blue-eyed girl now, Mr. God?