The building is a stone gallery strengthened by a buttress on each side. A wooden door, tightly hinged to the wall, is smoothly heavy. Inside the gallery, there are vault columns made of granite on each side to bear the load, small rooms diced up behind the vault columns, doors closed, a sentinel with a spear in hand at the door front, guarding the obvious secrets inside.  There is a candle lamp hanging on each column, lighting up the Gargoyle underneath. The gallery, just like any earthly shrine, is constructed by the simple geometric and physical rules, symmetrically grandiose. There are surprisingly no displays of religious symbols of any kind. I walk on the smooth stone floor, which bears the invisible footprints of prior saints, feeling emotionally glorified and a little bit atheistically defiant, simultaneously. The hall is filled with enchanting sound, like spa music, meditatively soothing. An incarnated figure sits on a raised marble platform, lanky, frivolous in disposition, dressed in an ancient Roman Toga. His face hidden in the shadow formed by the background luminescent light, high in frequency on EM Spectrum by naked eyes, creating an ultra violet light glare, my eyes squinted. Realizing that I am encountering the highest sacred, I am ritualistically horrified and kinesthetically paralyzed. I know the brightness behind him is the eternity, the infinity of the universe and the place for afterlife if there is one. My grandma’s smile flashes in my mind. I shiver and close my eyes.

“Your Mighty…” My throat dry, voice cracked, searching with the little sanity left for appropriate replacement of “My Lord” to maintain the minimum dignity as an atheist and to show my ultimate respect for him. God reads my mind, says friendly: “You may sit.”

I sit in the middle of the room, on the floor, one leg overlapping the other, my usual meditating position.

“You aren’t a Theist,” God continues, “you can call me Mite, just like the nicknames Mike or Joe. ”
He raises his right arm up in the air and folds the hand into a fist, slowly unfolding his fingers, one at a time. When the last little finger unfolds, a dove appears in his palm! He says with a teasing smile, “I’ve earned my name, haven’t I?”

I am visibly mused, though not sure if this is a sleight of hand magician trick or a real miracle. The ice is quietly broke by him and I regain my composure: “Yes, Mite, you deserve the name. “

I quickly search my brain data storage to compose a few questions that I believe are not only mostly intriguing to Atheists like me but also to the human beings as a whole. This is a millennial chance to have a direct dialogue with God, but I have to lay out the questions intelligently to demonstrate that we the human do have the threshold of intelligence required to communicate with God.

I collect the scattered strings of my thoughts and take a deep breath, start my question, the easiest one in my mind:
“You are incarnated now and are as palpable to me as the marble, why not stay this way so that the doubt about your existence which has confounded human beings for thousands of years can be annihilated once and for all? ”

“A boring question,” he says, but his voice resonates briskly and euphorically, not bored to my ears.

“I have been asked this question for billions of times over thousands of solar cycles and I have repeated myself each time. But the message never gets across. It is like analogy of the lighthouse. The lighthouse is built to mark coastal lines and to guide navigation at night. The light, not the generator underneath, needs to be seen. The supernatural being shall stay beyond entity and sense, void and empty, concrete material and metaphysical abstraction, perception and knowledge, science and literature, time and space, all possible human recognitions and attainments, to maintain his supremacy and ultimate control not only over human beings that, by the way, is just a small pocket of activities, but the infinite universe created by him.”
Mite pauses and notices that I am starting to lose it. He resumes his talk in a conversational mode: “There are also practical reasons for me to stay out of incarnation. It may cause confusions and strife and probably wars. Stay beyond perception and recognitions is the best precautions to be not taken advantaged of ethnically and racially by human vices. Humans shall keep imagining me to their preferences. Will you marry a girl of different race?”

“Probably not,” I answer honestly, I love my wife though her moaning and groaning sometimes drive me insane. “So you encourage different holly incarnations likes Jesus, Buddha or Allah and many more to people’s likings?”

Mite says: “I acquiesce.”

(To be continued)