When God Chose Mischief

...she cast you as her skin in her human play

What if this lifetime isn’t your dedication to the divine…

…but your devotion to being beautifully, clumsily, heartbreakingly human?

What if you’ve already been the monk, the mantra, the mountain?

And now you’re here to be the Mischief?

To feel skin.

To crave, collapse, laugh, miss people you shouldn’t, overwater your plants, stare at the ceiling at 2 am, wondering if you’re doing it right, or doing the right thing at all.

To love things that don’t last.
To think, to speak, to cry,

To need.

It’s not a punishment to feel so deeply; it’s a play.

Not because you’ve fallen, but because you chose to fall into form.

Maybe being God was too clean. Too silent.

Maybe you longed for the taste of coffee after a night of doubt. 
 The doubt from all the thinking you do to remember your way to yourself. 
 It’s a game you play. 
You are the child of a paradox.

Maybe, this ache, this art, this absurdity…. Is the final lesson.

Not transcendence.

But presence.

Human, here, holy.

No ascension required.