Tennis-star-turned-underwear-designer Bjorn Borg slept fitfully after a fraught day at the office. A day in which his secretary quit. A day in which Bjorn’s mind suddenly emptied in the middle of a presentation. A day in which Bjorn had specifically requested a cup of black coffee, and instead was brought white tea.
In his bed that night (queen-size, with calico-coloured Egyptian cotton sheets, which he shared with Mrs. Borg), Bjorn harrumphed, and twisted his body side-to-side, the days events repeating on him like bad onions.
Eventually, sleep came, as sleep does, when Bjorn was not expecting it. Bjorn fell softly into its jaws and his sleep cycle began, drawing Bjorn deeper and deeper into its 200 thousand-year old rhythms, until finally, his eyes started twitching below their lids, and his alpha-waves began firing synapse to synapse.
Bjorn was in a garden. Not his garden, but it was somewhere he knew. As he walked to the end of the lawn, he spotted a tree which he had never noticed before. The tree was angular and exotic, and fecund with many spiky fruits. Bjorn reached his hand towards a low branch to wrest one of these fruits from its stalk. As he did, a voice boomed from above: ‘TAKE NOT OF THESE FRUITS, BJORN.’
Borg lifted his gaze to see the great, bearded face of God scowling down at him.
‘Hi God. Listen, thanks for all the tennis skills and the charmed life.’
‘YOU’RE WELCOME BJORN. IT’S NICE TO HEAR A BIT OF GRATITUDE.’
‘God, can I ask you something?’
‘SURE. I’VE GOT NOWHERE ELSE TO BE.’
‘Why am I seeing you as an old bearded guy in a white robe? I mean, if I’m asked about God, I tend to give a generic answer about God being a force, or energy, rather than a person.’
‘YEAH. I GET THIS A LOT. IT’S CALLED ANTHROPOMORPHISM. IT’S EASIER FOR HUMANS TO THINK OF ME AS HUMAN-LIKE. EVEN THEISM SCHOLARS THAT PRETEND TO THINK OF ME AS SOME ABSTRACT PRESENCE IN REALITY SEE ME AS THE OLD METRO-GOLDWYN-MEYER FIGURE OF A BIG OLD GUY WITH A BEARD. IT’S INTERESTING. OTHER CREATURES DO IT TOO. THE CRAYFISH HAVE THIS GREAT BIG CRAYFISH GOD, WITH HUGE CLAWS.’
‘OK. And it’s a no to the fruit, right?’
‘IF YOU DON’T MIND.’
Bjorn woke with a jolt. His sheets were damp with the secreted worries of the previous day.
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