I didn’t know what G-d looked like until I met Him this afternoon in the bathroom mirror.
At first, He was frustrated, furrowed brows and a grimace every other moment.
What might appear to be bandages filled up the visible tile of the cold floor, scattered pieces of flesh colored cotton cloth clouding His vision.
I heard Him cry when His positioning wasn’t correct, when He had to peel the aggressive adhesive from His tender skin.
But as His chest became flatter, I could sense His heart growing fonder, fonder of the thing He had brought and grown and morphed into being.
As His chest became flatter, His truth grew brighter, His shoulders rolled back to a sturdy resting stance.
G-d became g-dlier, holiness gained sentience, as His chest became flat.
Today, I did not meet Hashem, and I sure as hell did not meet Jesus. Today, I met the man I am discovering beneath the lumps of lipids and the forever-apologizing girl, the girl I am so grateful to lay to rest.
Today, I puncture the cicada shell bondage I have been held in for twenty one years.
Today, I become the insect who I thought would lie dormant under all that crumbling backyard soil.
Because today, I met G-d in the bathroom mirror and He looked me in the fucking eye and when I blinked, He did too.
