Is that a bell I hear?

Last night I debated by Viber on my iPhone the existence of a god. I’ve been a lifelong agnostic, at the very least, and atheist for most of it. So too is my friend. A couple of events yesterday have led me to reconsider.

My conception of ‘God’, the Christian version, is long way off the benevolent character with a long white beard sitting on a cloud somewhere overlooking his minions. Though I’ve not been a believer I don’t mind a lot of Christian mythology, the stuff in the Old Testament anyway. I remember the first time I closely read the story of Job. I came away with a sneaky admiration for old Yahweh.

The God of the Old Testament is a crotchety old bastard sometimes, sometimes playful, often capricious, and not nearly as tranquil and gentle as common convention would have it. I think it makes him more interesting in much the same way that a ‘bad’ girl is generally more fascinating than the goody two-shoes living next door. I could imagine having a beer with a god like that, as well as the odd mighty debate.

Now, I’m not a convert to the idea that there is a god, let alone a Christian one. My understanding of the world, the caprice of ebb and flow, give and take, cause and fucking effect, means that today I see a pattern that suggests that not everything is random.

A couple of things happened yesterday. Firstly I got a call from a recruiter putting me forward for an interview. I kid you not, that’s the first in 6 months. The second thing is that someone contacted me last night with a serious intent to buy the massage shop. I’m meeting with them today.

It’s the timing of these events as much as anything else which has me wondering. Here I am proclaiming despair to the world, gnashing my teeth, rending my clothes and generally wailing to great dramatic effect about the miserable place I’ve ended up. I’ve been waiting, waiting, waiting and hanging on for dear life to the lat moment, and a little beyond. The last moment came Friday, when I formally announced that I would be vacating my rental property. On Monday this happens.

If you believe in a truly benevolent god you’re thinking right now that he’s coming to the rescue. It’s ok H, he says with a wink, I’ll look after you. It’s been a hard road mate but you’ve proven your worth. Your trial is over.

Yeah, right I think. You see, if I was a believer then I believe in the capricious version of god. For all I know he’s taking the piss  with me. That’s how it seems to me, as if it’s going to play out one of two ways. Either it really is legit – salvation of some sort is at hand, which the big fella delivers with a wry smile and a cheery wave of the hand. Don’t worry H, told you.

Or else it’s just another cock-tease. I get all excited thinking that cripes, phew, how fucking close was that – when he goes and pulls the rug from under my feet. Just joshin’ he says, cackling with the joy of it. Don’t forget I’m the omnipotent one!

Obviously I’d be happy for it to be the former situation. More than happy. Hey, if it counts, I’m praying for it. The whole situation though seems consistent with how the world seems set-up. Like Hollywood.

It presents me with a conundrum. Am I to believe that it will work out, or not? Here I am poised n the cusp of moving out of a home I’d desperately prefer to remain in. I’ve announced it, I’ve made plans, called removalists, and all of the rest of it. Time now is of the essence. In practical terms I’m unlikely to be in a position to physically move for about a fortnight – there’s a mountain of packing to do. Is that time enough?

The danger is that if I delay and it doesn’t happen I’m in deeper shit than ever. On the other hand, if I move only to discover that I could have stayed, where does that leave me?

It’s a very complex equation involving time and money, If I’m sensible I have to presume the worst, and prepare for that, hoping that if it isn’t to be that I find out before it’s too late.




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