My name is God

February 3, 2010

GOD

My name is God and I created the world.

Everything you see, everywhere you go, everything you sense, even what your sixth sense captures, was created by me.

I am God and I was born in Brazil, the holy place that exists beyond the frontiers of the world, beyond the perceptible lines that separate earth from heaven.

I am God, but I wasn’t born that way. I became God through a holy alchemy that transforms metal to pure gold.

Before me, you did not exist.

Before me, there was nothing. The universe was chaos.

Here is my story, the story of the creation of the universe.

GENESIS

At some point in my life, when I was still a young child, I found that life was too difficult to endure.

At that time I wasn’t God as people understand God.

I was a God to be, an esoteric concept, from an ancient spiritual school.

The fact that all men are mortal- and I used to be mortal- horrified me to the extent that I refused to live that reality.  I created my own world where I could live forever,  completely happily.

The world I created is the world that you know and the world in which you, and those who came before you, live.

I created you and everything around you.

A MANGER IN PORTO ALEGRE CITY

I was born to a poor family in Southern Brazil.

My parents had just enough money to cover the rent for a tiny apartment, buy enough clothes to cover ourselves, and to feed us once a day. My two older sisters and I attended school, but when my sisters were old enough, they dropped out and started working to help support the family.

That wasn’t the case with me. My parents allowed me to finish college and never asked me to work.  This was not just because I was a good student, but more so because of my divinity.

I was born with a mission.

I grew up without toys, ice cream, cartoons on TV, Santa Claus, cookies, birthday parties, or vacations in the mountains. But very early on, I found that I didn’t need those things.

When I was about five years old I discovered that I could create my own world.

My enemies called me Altist.  I feel sorry for them, the Pharisees.

They didn’t realize that I would become God.

THE HOLY TRANSFORMATION

But how did I become a God ?

There is no practical manual. Nobody teaches you to be God. You have to find your own way. You have to sacrifice yourself, to be enlightened through your own efforts. A supreme effort at that.  No ordinary attempt will do.  You have to die as a human and be reborn as God.

I was a very imaginative child.  At five years old I started writing stories.  People said that I had talent.

When I was eighteen, a creative director friend of my older sister invited me to work at an advertising agency.  Within a few months I was the golden child and made lots of coin, too.

Imagination was my strength.  Isolation was my main liability.

I didn’t have real friends. I knew a lot of people, but I didn’t acknowledge them. I shaped them in my mind to fit my version of the world.  And in my world, I am the boss and all reality should reflect that. My will be done.

GOD IN CRISIS

But that was not enough for me.  Brazil was too small for God. I liked the United States of America and wanted to live there.

In the United States most everybody is happy.

Those who aren’t find themselves that way because they choose to be different, to live on the edge, to be heroes.

I love the unhappy people because paradoxically, they know how to be happy.

They live the underground life.  They live on the road. They are beat nicks and rebels without a cause. They sing Billy Holiday and Janis Joplin tunes and die from overdoses. They suffer differently from the French intellectual existentialists. They suffer with happiness, hamburgers, hot dogs, Disneyworld and fries.

They don’t suffer in black and white, but in color.

Americans suffer with a huge amount of money in their bank accounts, too and this was priceless to me.

I know it, I saw it in the movies.

Beautiful and happy people, pristine streets, huge houses, luxury  cars, infinite highways, tall buildings, great clothes, fine restaurants, delicious food, sunny parks, unpolluted rivers, unbelievable lovers, silly TV shows with even sillier laugh tracks.

God bless America, land of the free, home of the brave, and now my home too.

America:  the dream of all dreams.

WHEN GOD BECAME AMERICAN

I moved to America.

The dream became reality, and the reality became the ultimate fantasy.

I was living the same scenarios of the films I loved.

On the street, in the offices, in the malls, in the shops, at the grocery store, everywhere, people spoke English.  And it was natural.

I lived in a big house, bought a luxury car, dated a beautiful woman with white teeth-   and a sweet white ass.  I watched football, drank horrible coffee, tended my own garden, cut my own grass, wore a baseball cap, went to church on Sunday, barbequed hamburgers and hot dogs, ate bacon and eggs with oat meal in the morning, and waved hello to my neighbors.

My friends invited me to football games and I chanted along with them, “Let’s go Dolphins”.  When I observed myself doing that I thought, “God is American!”  And I cried tears of joy.  Not only had I become God, but I also lived in America.  I got a green card and then became citizen.

IS THERE SOMETHING BIGGER THAN GOD?

Must be.  I felt an emptiness. Being God was not enough. I needed more. I needed to speak without an accent. I needed to prefer beer to wine. I needed to change the color of my skin, to have blond hair, to ski in Colorado each season, to be about a foot taller, to learn how to throw a spiral.

I started drinking. Everyday.

At first it was every night.  Then it was every night and every afternoon. That became every night, every afternoon and every morning.

A friend of mine came to help me.  I was totally beaten up. I asked him for help.

He told me that I wasn’t God. I didn’t believe him, but he insisted. He told me that if I wanted to survive I’d have to allow that part of me to die.

I did it.  The God I used to be is now dead.  I was reborn a normal person. I am mortal.

I am not God. And it is not too bad.

ART DIRECTOR: MARCIA HERCHENHORN.

ILUSTRATOR: BARBARA STEIMBERG.

READ ALSO: Monday I”ll Kill myself, no more delay( a suicidal note).

https://befree2bfree.wordpress.com/2009/06/12/monday-i’ll-kill-myself-no-more-delay-a-suicidal-note/

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Antonio Costa Neto is freelancer writer and has worked in some of the most important ad agencies in Brazil and the United States. He now lives in Miami where he owns and operates a marketing consultant company. Throughout his career in advertising, he has won top international awards in the Cannes, London and New York festivals, as well as in the Clio Awards and many Latin American festivals. Antonio Costa Neto has written numerous plays and screen plays in Brazil.
Womb Wrecker Syndrome is his second book.Antonio holds a BA in philosophy and sociology from Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul.

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