Artificial, Imitation or Me
Have you ever felt really hungry for God?
that is the prompt I gave AI.
it took a moment and then AI said,
There is a specific kind of quiet that arrives
when the noise of trying too hard finally burns out.
It isn’t the clean, peaceful stillness of a postcard;
it’s the heavy, hollow ache of an empty room waiting for a footstep.
I remember sitting on the floor,
the afternoon light stretching thin and grey across the rug,
feeling a hunger that physical food couldn't touch.
It wasn't a desire for answers, or rules, or a grand sign —
just a desperate, throat-dry longing for presence.
To know that beneath the surface of the ordinary,
the current was still running.
My wife read it and said,
It’s nice, but it’s not you,
so I told AI, using my poems as reference,
write like me about feeling really hungry for God.
It sat there for a moment and then AI wrote.
The house is perfectly still,
the morning light just beginning to sketch
the familiar edges of the kitchen table,
the quiet contour of the everyday.
By all accounts, there is fullness here—
a life rich with routine, with shared warmth,
with the steady rhythm of tasks well-met.
And yet, an ache opens up.
It is a sudden, sharp hunger
that nothing on the counter can feed.
Not a desire for a lightning bolt or a grand sign,
but a deep, throat-dry longing to feel
the current beneath the surface.
A hunger to know that the ordinary
is still translucent to the Divine.
it’s nice, but it is not you, my wife said.
so I wrote about feeling really hungry for God.
I thought about it,
because I am always hungry for God,
not for any of the reasons
the AI who does not know me said,
but because I hunger for more.
I hunger for the moments I write in my journals.
those moments when I give thanks for my life,
for that which inspires me,
that which brings me joy,
the people,
the places,
and the ordinary things in life
which remind me how blessed I am.
I hunger for those moments
when I just get to sit and be
with the one I call the Ultimate.
I hunger for the reminder that
my cup continues to runneth over
and I can continue to bless and be of service to others.
I hunger, not for what I do not have,
but for each moment,
each opportunity I have
to be with the Ultimate
and experience the symphony
that only happens for me
when I am in the Ultimate’s presence.
This is you, my wife said
the others are okay,
but this sounds like you.
There was nothing wrong before,
but it didn’t feel authentic,
it didn’t sound like you and
it twisted me up,
this was your first poem where there were moments
that were unclear and i didn’t understand,
until you wrote about your hunger.
Your hunger to be with the Ultimate
and to always be of service.
This was you.
Others can imitate you,
or at least try,
but they are not you.
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