the athiest today. the ______ tomorrow.

He is the worst kind of athiest.
And smarter than me, filled with expertise in things I only first hear of when he talks about them.
He lives his life behind his eyes and between his ears. Above his neck and chest and hands and feet.
And I can't reason with him. Because reason isn't important in matters like these, until you first allow yourself to feel. Once he understands the validity of what can be felt, then I will tell him the rest.
I smile at him, and he must think I'm embarrassed, but actually, I'm smiling in anticipation of triumph.
I live everywhere. In my fingertips. In the middle of my ribcage. In my mind. In my feet, in my walk. I live in my rhythm. It goes ba-da-da ba-dum-dum-dum. My life tingles and escapes from my every appendage.
And why I smile? Because I see the futility of his ideas. One day he will feel alive in his hands and he won't be able to explain it except by going beyond his mind... to the hands themselves.
One day, I'll grab his hand and tell him to do this.
I'll ask him if he can feel what I'm sending him.
He'll lie.
So I'll encourage him to quit thinking.
He might go to the hands then.
It will be the sweetest victory.
To show him he cares, and he won't be able to explain why.
Someday...

I won't just convince him of God.
Someday he will experience God.
He will feel Him. And not know what it was that was felt. And then. Then he will go looking for that feeling like his head is on fire.
And the answer is a bucket of water.

One day.
I hope.