20 July 2018

Encounter

In yesterday's blogpost, I neglected to tell you that while I was at Bleaklow Stones I met God. It was just like the dream of my childhood. He had long flowing grey hair and a long grey beard and the expression upon his timeless face was serious - as if he was carrying all the troubles of the world upon his shoulders. Upon refection, I guess he was and always has done.

In my childhood dream, God was wearing a long, flowing white robe - like an oversized Victorian nightdress. However, when I met him at Bleaklow Stones he was wearing hiking boots rather like mine, dark grey shorts and a light grey T-shirt on which these words were boldly printed in black - "I AM GOD".

At first I didn't see him. The greyness was like a camouflage. He was sitting against a weathered rock munching on a manna sandwich.

I was going to simply ignore him, respecting his personal space but he raised a bony grey hand to wave at me so I went over and spoke with him. I tell you it was a real surprise when I discovered that he was God as I have spent all of my thinking life disbelieving.

"Sit down and join me my son," he whispered. His echoey voice seemed to curl around the stone outcrops like smoke.

Time seemed to stand still while I talked with God. We spoke about many things and God was kind enough to bless this blog which it turned out he has visited many times. 

"There are many advantages to being omniscient," he winked.

We covered global warming, the dinosaurs, Christianity, The Black Death, who wrote The Bible, Hull City A.F.C., Brexit and Donald Trump. God insisted that he hadn't engineered the presidency for Brer Trump - it was Satan in league with the Russian president whose name he could not remember, excusing himself with the reminder that he has been around billions of years. "I can't remember everything Mr Pudding!"

I asked him if he could arrange it so that I will win the National Lottery jackpot this coming Saturday and he pledged that, if he remembered to do it,  my numbers would indeed come up. In exchange I gave him the other half of my water. He glugged it down and wiped his beard saying, "That was lovely my son! Thank you."

It was time to go our separate ways. God slung his rucksack over his shoulders. I noticed that two angel wings had been embroidered on the rear pocket. They were golden. We shook hands and he whispered, "Go in peace!" He refused point blank to have his photograph taken. Silly old God!

Was it mist or low cloud that descended upon the stones? He was heading for Bleaklow Head. I watched him fading away into the landscape and began to quietly sing a hymn I remembered from the years when  I was a choirboy in Holy Trinity Church...
Ye holy angels bright, 
Who wait at God's right hand, 
Or through the realms of light 
Fly at your Lord's command, 
Assist our song, 
Or else the theme 
Too high doth seem 
For mortal tongue.
And when I looked again he had gone beyond those voiceless stones and tussocks of moorland grasses and spindly heather. I don't suppose I shall ever meet God again. He smelt of candlewax and sandalwood joss sticks and it looked as though his nose had been broken at some time in the past. I hope he remembers those lottery numbers!

39 comments:

  1. He looks like charlton Heston

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    1. Bobby or Jackie? And please don't call me Heston.

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  2. I think he looks like Michelangelo! If you'd given him wine instead of water, he'd probably be more apt to remember you and your lottery numbers.
    Just saying.

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    1. When rambling on moortops I tend not to carry bottles of vino with me Ms Moon.

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  3. Next time fill your water bottles with water, Mr. Putin...ooops...Mr. Pudding! Filling them with vodka and taking them with you as sustenance when out hiking is not really a good idea. Puttin' water bottles in your backpack is the best way to go!

    I thought God never forgot a thing, a face, nor a name. Mr. Putin...I mean, Mr. Pudding!

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    1. Yorkshire Putin - the ironman of Blogworld. I wonder if the Russian word for pudding is "putin"?

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  4. It's not nice to mess with G . . .keeee-RACKKKK . . .

    Oh, watch out for that lightning, Mr. Pudding.

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    1. Come to think of it there was a rumble of thunder when he walked off.

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  5. How many people think of God in a human form? There's a special name for that isn't there? As a child I had a similar image.

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  6. Enjoyed the post AND the comments!

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    1. God will also be pleased with this comment.

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  7. You tell a good story!

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    1. I hope you were not offended.

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    2. I try not to be easily offended

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  8. In my childhood mind, God's robe was never white. It had the colour of the sky, changing with the time of day and the weather, but mostly being blue.

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    1. You were into fashion when you were a little girl - even when it concerned God's appearance!

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  9. Rick thinks he's god. He's dyslexic.

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    1. Ha-ha! Now I get it. It took a moment.

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  10. I remember that Hymn.....I got the tune right at the third attempt.!! I used to love hymn singing back in the day !

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    1. Even now, I am not averse to singing a familiar hymn though I dispute their meanings.

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  11. I was not offended either, you clever and talented Yorkshireman, you, but I cannot and do not speak for other adherents of the Christian faith as they have the right to speak for themselves. I imagine that a lot of them might well be offended, especially over the part about Donald Trump. Lee beat me to it with her comment; I too wondered at the possible connection between Purim and Pudding.

    As clever as this post is, I still think that your description of God somehow misses the mark. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Perhaps what you need is the assistance of a few more flights of angels to capture him completely.

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    1. Crazy computer changed Putin to Purim.

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    2. Putin to Purim? It was God's will. Purim is a Jewish holiday that commemorates the saving of the Jewish people from Haman, who was planning to kill all the Jews. This took place in the ancient Achaemenid Persian Empire. Vladimir Purim has a nice ring to it.

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  12. I figured God to look something like that or, maybe more like fathers Christmas because in Italy it is baby Jesus who brings gifts for Christmas and, I always thought that God/father christmas bought them for his son Jesus to bring to us children. I wish I could still believe in father Christmas; life would be so much easier.
    Greetings Maria x

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    1. If only there were fairies, elves and goblins and indeed gods we could really believe in. Life would then be so much simpler.

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  13. Old stones are the best place to meet gods, I prefer the Celtic ones!

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    1. In wintertime it's probably better to meet gods in nice cosy pubs - perhaps challenging them to games of darts.

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  14. His first name is God, his last name is Namnit, often mispronounced.

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    1. God Namnit? I have often said his name. Are you also a disciple TJ?

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  15. On a practical note: What are your lottery numbers? I am sure you won't mind sharing several millions with me. Thanks.

    And on an eerie note: Can you imagine if we won? Would we, once the initial joy and delirium have abated, give thanks, be converted? Would we quiver? And what about hell? Antechambers and stuff, like limbo ... Remember, no heaven without hell. In that order.

    Spooked in anticipation,
    U

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    1. I can handle the issues you have illuminated Ursula.
      My numbers are
      7 11 17 24 25 29
      &
      8 13 23 26 42 55
      (One number has been changed in each line as I do not wish to share the jackpot)

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    2. My maths (or logic) might be incorrect but if I am correct then by buying 600 tickets (twice, of course) I would manage to have the winning ticket too. Cheap at twice the price.

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    3. A £2400 investment for a fifty-fifty split of £7.7 million. You would be crazy not to do it Graham!

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  16. God will forgive you. He has a sense of humour. He has to have had one otherwise He would not have made Man.

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    1. Don't you mean Woman?

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    2. I should, of course, said 'Otherwise She would not have made Man'.

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    1. What do you know about these things Nath Daros? You are an imbecile!

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Mr Pudding welcomes all genuine comments - even those with which he disagrees. However, puerile or abusive comments from anonymous contributors will continue to be given the short shrift they deserve. Any spam comments that get through Google/Blogger defences will also be quickly deleted.