Good Things Happen When You Smile, or When You're Naked (The Gods Are Still High)
A goddess once worshiped for wisdom shows up barefoot, high, and half-naked, here to remind you truth isn’t polite, it’s primal.
A Morning with a Goddess in Disguise.
She walked into my life barefoot and smirking, wearing nothing but the sun and a necklace of busted metaphors. Said her name was Sara, but when she touched my arm, I felt every forgotten poem I never wrote beg to crawl out of my skin.
She said she used to be a goddess once.
Goddess of wisdom, language, music, all that polite shit.
Now she smokes weed behind libraries and flashes security cameras on purpose.
“You know the problem with enlightenment?” she asked, biting into an overripe pear, juice dribbling down her chin.
“It’s boring as fuck.”
She talked about how she got tired of being worshiped by men who wanted knowledge without consequence.
“Priests never learn,” she said, “just perform.”
Now she prefers mornings like this, half-naked on a hotel balcony, the world waking up beneath her, her laughter shaking birds out of trees. Her body is holy in the way language used to be before it got co-opted by algorithms and TED Talks. Her smile isn’t a lesson, it’s a dare.
We talked about creation, about destruction, about why you should never trust someone who corrects your grammar during sex. She told me the universe doesn’t want your obedience. It wants your chaos. Your cracked voice. Your honest filth.
I asked if she missed the temple, the marble, the prayers.
She shrugged. “This body’s better. It sweats.”
Then she stood, naked in the golden light, stretched like the alphabet unraveling, and said, “Good things happen when you smile. Or when you're naked.”
Then she disappeared into the fog, probably to seduce a philosophy professor or liberate a bookshelf.
And I just sat there, joint burning down to my fingers, trying to remember how to say anything true.
