Theology of the Verb

I went to see the Mets with my dad once. We were in Citi Field in Queens. I could telepathically hear the thoughts of all 41,000 people sitting there. It was overwhelming and mind shattering and almost unbearable. I only heard the voice of God once. I was in my old house, when I was married. I was on our bed reading, I forget what. She wasn’t home. I was all alone. My daughter might have been away at school. I don’t remember the exact situation. You know how you can sometimes “hear” your own thoughts, it’s like an ongoing narration. This was not that. This was literally hearing a voice. It broke through everything vividly and sounded like someone was there in the room with me. The voice sounded like an American male actor who I’ve heard before but can’t possibly sift through all my memories of tv shows or movies to pinpoint who he was. It was friendly and non-threatening, it sounded just…American like a game show announcer or something. But not announcing anything in a loud way. The voice sounded like it was coming from the top of a well and I was at the bottom, it reverberated. The voice sounded golden somehow. Like I could visualize bursting streams of gold in my mind while it spoke.

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