Yesterday I sat in the car and talked to God.  It was almost embarrassing.  Something more dignified maybe?  Like sitting in my bedroom or outside in the grass and looking into nothingness to channel the inner divine?  No.  I was driving on Chagrin Boulevard, one of the busiest roads in northeast Ohio in Cleveland.  I turned left and got the overwhelming sense of, Should Say Something to God.  It’s been a quiet patch lately.

I got that feeling like when I’m about to get on the phone with a relative who doesn’t know anything about me.  What do I say?

And this is coming from someone who considers herself relatively alive in the spiritual world, connection to Something larger.  Still, I felt awkward.  The car?  With my hands on the steering wheel?  But since Beachwood recently lawed NO CELL PHONE USE/NO TEXTING to us residents, I didn’t look any different than the drivers muttering into the air, their hands on the wheel, words echoing off the dashboard.

Hey.  So it’s been a while.  Not really sure what to say here except I’m not sure what I’m doing.  I think I’ve been telling you that for about thirty three years, so I’m not expecting that to change.

Um, sometimes I wonder what it is you want me to do.  Or even if you exist at times.  Sorry.  That sounds terrible.  Like I’m one of THOSE PEOPLE who flippantly identify as Cool Agnostic and surf the conversations of faith and offer the conventional remark, “I’m more spiritual than religious and really love walks in nature.  I know Something is out there.”

That’s NOT me.  Like all my other earthly relationships, this one with you is intense, consuming, and I just want to feel it more deeply.

::stop light::

So do you have anything you want to say?

–Nothing.–

But why, today, do I feel strangely closer to that Something?