The Spirit of Gold

The Spirit of Gold

Now we make peace. Become one. Forever. Great in power... restoring my heavenly position next to God. The part of the infinite.

I said it aloud this morning. Like it would shape reality or remind it who I was. Then I asked the sky:

Who would incriminate me?

I wait; shoulders tense. No answer. Just the hush of wind licking dust off the mailbox. So I decide—if no one comes, I’ll come for them first.

Defend myself with aggressive action and determination, I tell the mirror. The mirror flinches.

And that’s when I saw it, the Spirit of Gold.

A tiny thing. Raindrop-shaped, like a fat teardrop asleep on its side. Like a beached whale, or a god that remembers how to play. Its body radiates, not in blinding light, but in kindness. Warmth. Affection disguised as luminosity. That’s what gold is. Maybe that’s why God adores it. Not because it’s rare. But because it glows like love without fear.

I whispered, “I love the Spirit of Gold.”

But then I said, “No money God.” And I meant it. No currency. Just guidance. Protocols. Traditions. As in heaven, so on earth—if that’s still allowed.

And somewhere in that prayer, I saw her, a steamy Nazi Fräulein, smeared into my memory like a fever dream. She’s not real, is she? Or is she part of the spirit too? Seduction and holiness fused into one moral hallucination.

No one understands it right.

I once believed everything we’ve done is exactly what we had to do to arrive here. If that’s true... how does one repent?

I don’t know anymore.

Maybe repentance isn’t an act. Maybe it’s a wound you don’t hide. I repent only for the moments I didn’t love God fully. I repent with my heart. Not with rituals. If you love God—really—then you don’t need to fear that you’ve broken His will. That’s my theology now.

Still, I worry. Is it ever really possible to fulfill God’s will? What if destiny is just the role you got cast in?

I almost believed that.

But no, blame won’t save us. We must be responsible. Radically responsible. Belief and behavior locked like ribs around the heart.

This, then, is the Kingdom of God on earth. It begins when one becomes one. In peace. In love. But beware… the dark side wants that too. Not to build it. But to ruin it. They dream of God’s plan so they can mimic it in shadow.

And in the middle of all of this?

I remember the day my aquarium cup broke. Maybe that’s when it all began. It just rolled off the roof when I turned a corner. Smashed on the street in 1,000 pieces, coffee blending into the asphalt.

2 Samuel 17:14 – “So the Lord ordained the counsel of Ahithophel to fail, to bring evil upon Absalom.”

God can twist even good advice if it serves a deeper narrative. Even my better thoughts may be undone. And maybe I’m Absalom too. Or Ahithophel. Or the cracked porcelain cup that held it all for just long enough.