“So,” I say to God, “God,” I say.
“Now that it’s the end of retreat…
How do I keep it?”

“Keep it?” says God, says She.

“You know,” I say, “this emptiness, the pleasantness of it, the fullness…
Now that I’ve found it…
all the practices,
the teacher and the teachings,
the chant,
the other seekers,
the retreat center,
the dancing trees,
the silence and the good air,
the food and the coffee (well not exactly the coffee but that the coffee was made).
How do I take it with me,
you know, after I leave, go back to my life?”

“Hmm,” says God, says She. “That’s a very good question.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Of course, there is no answer. Only the question,” says God, says She.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“STOP grasping! Stay inside the question.”

“Huh?” I say, turning red because God is rolling Her eyes.

“Take a breath,” says God, says She, pointing Her finger at my chest, pressing it there, a little too hard.

“Go back to the emptiness, the fullness, the coffee, yada yada…
Feel into that very deeply
and then just…STOP…right in the middle…
of the desire there,” says God, says She.
“Your yearning to keep it.
Listen from inside the flame of this desire.
Let the rest fall away.”

“But wait,” I say, “How? I mean, how do I do that?”
I’m wanting something more, something tangible, you know?
A YouTube on desire or a website for candles, Goddammit.

“They’re metaphors,” says God, says She, sending a thin spray of spittle onto my cheek.
“And those things you want to keep, they’re conditions, temporary, not the real thing.”

And then God takes a deep breath and closes Her eyes.
I can tell She is struggling to stay calm.
There’s a long pause, and more uncomfortable pointing.
And I’m afraid I went a little too far, you know, with all the questions.

“It’s just This,” says God, says She, the pointing now pretty intense.
“Live in it, right here.” Rapid pointing. “The desire, all shimmery.”

Another pause, and I’m not feeling the shimmer but the pointing is becoming fainter now, more like a caress.

“It’s what we take from retreat,” says God, says She.
“What we give to others.
Sparked by the teacher, the practices.
We keep them as memory, but we must let go of them too.
What remains is simply desire, live in that.”

Right then, God’s lecture brings me back
to the silence and the dancing trees and the teachings,
and I can feel that desire, warmish, less intense, but present nonetheless.
And then I feel my grasping like a claw.
For a second, they argue right there inside my chest,
the warm desire and the grasping claw.
Then, both at the same time.

“Surely you can feel it?” says God, says She.

Her caress amplifies the warmth there in the center of my chest, the bony part.

“Kind of,” I say. “It’s hard.”

“Indeed.” says God, says She. “It’s practice.”