18th Day - God is a Mushroom

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Photo by Michael Oeser on Unsplash

I met God, and They didn’t know who I was. God, They didn’t know what I was. I kneeled at Their volva, prayed under Their cup for some miraculous spores from Their omnipotent gills.

Why, God; why? I asked; but how could They understand? What language God speaks, if not rain, and sun, and shade?

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