The Void

“‘What I want most and what intimidates me the most are the same thing.’ Hmmm. I like that one,” God mused, quoting my words back to me.

            I looked up at him from my position on the floor, crossed my arms over my chest, and said nothing.

            We were back in the room: bare, white-washed walls; single chair in the middle of the room; God perched on top of it; one leg crossed over the other; His guise perfected with those eternal glasses, slid down to the tip of His nose as He peered at me from over the top of them. I had chosen to sit as far away from Him as possible: my back pushed up against the door. And yet, I could not bring myself to leave the room. So I stood—or more precisely, sat—my ground at the door and allowed the face-off to continue.

            God broke the silence: “Jaime, why are you avoiding Me?”

            “I’m not avoiding You,” I muttered. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

            “You are sitting as far away from Me as you can get.”

            “I haven’t left yet, have I?”

            “You are sitting as far away from Me as you can get.”

            “Yes, but I haven’t—” I cut myself short, pondering His words. God didn’t repeat Himself aimlessly. You are sitting as far away from Me as you can get. I narrowed my gaze at the Manifestation across from me. “Are You implying . . ?” The words became sticky in my throat.

            “Am I implying what, Jaime?” God’s right eye seemed to twinkle; my stomach contemplated turning sour.

            “. . . that I couldn’t leave this room even if I tried?” My words sounded thin and distant. In a haze, I looked down at my hands and slowly flexed them. My left hand inched up toward its corresponding ear and to the knob I knew was beyond it.

            But God’s response was crisp and clear, and it dropped me back into pristine reality: “Precisely.” My eyes flashed toward Him; both hands clenched in front of me.

            “Impossible!”

            God nearly snorted. “What did you say?” He asked, incredulously.

            I paused and shook off my error. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I just don’t understand.”

            God’s eyes locked onto my own; their sternness sent a shiver down my spine. “Where do you think you are, Jaime?”

            “In a room,” I replied.

            “In what room?”

            “The Room in my house.”

            “You own a house?”

            “I—”

            “And you have a ‘Room’ in your house?”

            “Well—”

            “Do you remember what the outside of your house looks like? Do you know how to get to your house from the store? In fact, do you know of any other rooms in your house?”

            The questions were firing too fast. “I don’t know—”

            “No. You know very well, Jaime,” God continued in His rapid attack. “You know the truth: there is no Room.” He paused for a split second. “Do you think that is a real tear running down your cheek?”

            Startled, I reached up a finger and brushed the salty wetness from my face. I stared at the glistening moisture on my finger. Then I allowed my focus to shift beyond it and saw God staring intently at me.

            “This is Void, Jaime. This is where you empty yourself to allow for the Uncontrollable. And that is Me. That door is no physical door. If it were, of course you would be able to open it and flee from Me. But because it is beyond the realm of matter, natural laws don’t work here. You cannot leave this room, because you don’t want to.”

           My eyes widened. “What?”

         “You said it yourself, Jaime: What intimidates you most is what you want most. That is Me, Jaime. It is true that I embody your deepest fears, but I am also the object of your wildest desires. That door is not going to open.”