agonism Put your doughnut in her oven baeotic
**norm’s note**
part of why i like this so much is the work baeotic. so, like any good person, i googled it. it seems to be a word used only in spam. this presents me with a dilema. do i repeat the word on my blog? heck yeah, i do! that’s poetry.
:P
she awoke before dawn. she was hungry. she was always hungry. but lately, she had felt insatiable. there was no food in the barracks. there was never any food in the barracks. she definitely wasn’t going outside.
it was still dark out. the monsters were mostly nocturnal, large, hairy beasts. there hadn’t been an attack in her memory but she was still afraid. they were all afraid, as long as it was dark out.
this isn’t what had her awake before dawn. she was waiting for the high priest to perform the rite of dawn. she was waiting to hear him sing. she didn’t like to hear him sing. in fact, she hated the rite of dawn. she hated the priest.
she remembered the first time they had put her in a room with the priest, alone. they told her that it happened to everyone. it happened to every female in the barracks. it was going to be okay. maybe she would have a child. that was good. that would make them happy. that would keep her in the barracks.
she had had children. they had all been taken, taken from her, taken from her life and her care. they were either in a different barracks or in the priesthood.
the other day, she had had a strange thought. she had been outside, in the light, the warm light. she had been taking her turn sorting through the seeds and the feed. she had wondered if there was another option. was it possible to not be in a barracks and not be a priest? was there some other option? she felt weird just thinking about it. it turned out that she wasn’t clever enough to actually think of a different option.
right now, she was thinking about her children. one of them had died. she had known it right away. the others had been taken, taken away from her. she was wondering if they still believed in the sun god?
when she had been young, young and blonde, she had loved the sun god. she had loved to be out in his warmth and his safety. she had been told, and believed what she had been told, about the sun god. each day, the priest would celebrate the return of the sun with the rite of dawn. for, as she had been told, the sun god brought all good things to them. and while the sun god may have left them for a while, it would always come back to them. this was part of the tradition of the rite of dawn. the endless joy brought by the return of the sun. the monsters almost never came in the light. almost.
they had taken her children in the light, right in front of her.
she was pacing and muttering. she might have been doing this for a while. she wasn’t certain. some of the other women were up now, too. one was close. it was one of the old women. one of the ones that was always poking into everyone else’s business. she knew she must have been muttering because the old one turned and faced her.
the old one turned to her and said, “you are right to hate the priest. you are right to point out the hypocrisy.” the old woman must also have realized that the sun didn’t protect them from all evil. didn’t keep them absolutely safe. they had probably taken the children of the old one in the light, too.
The old one clucked on, “you didn’t know the old priest, did you? sometimes he would miss the rite of dawn. we would be waiting but it would never come. They left him here until he was old and stringy. but, he was no good in the room, not with us ladies. so, they replaced him, replaced him with someone who is good in the room, good with the ladies.”
it was close now. there were no windows in the barracks but it was cheaply built and there were many cracks between the boards. and the walls were thin. the floor was old and thin. she could see some of the sky turning from black to dark blue, signaling that the rite of dawn would be sung soon.
she said, not to the old one but louder than her earlier muttering, “i hated being in the room with this one.”
the old one replied, “we all hate it in the room. he’s a cock!” then, she sauntered off, gently laughing and bobbing her head.
the dark blue was turning to a light blue in the sky. the priest would be making his way up to the top of the fence. soon, he would sing the rite of dawn. soon they would all hear him, they would hear the cock-a-doodle-do of the rite of dawn.
Until may 20th, studying their manners, trying battle, himself
rushed against that foremost of were scattered all over
the field. Some, while believe me when i tell you that i
have been a witted, all the duns in the united kingdoms,
mordicai without injury to animals that live in holes and
floated loosely on his mind but his geographical so ever
we may be, we celebrate the sacrifice. With leonine shoulders
not inferior to sakra himself the fact into this head of
yours that rudeness into tears because a door slammed. Exactly
so! Men, one obtaineth the regions of agni and raiseth man
to perceive these facts. The severest blow one, according
to the indication of the srutis, man’s bashfulness. But
as her interlocutor, appalled,.
isnknejjjaaaajakmb.
:P
i was on the way home. it was a long flight. we were delayed for an hour on the tarmac. i forgot to pick up the extra pack of batteries for my cd player. so, about fifteen minutes into the wait, i was stuck with airplane music and a three-day-old paper. home never seemed so much like home.
the flight, once it was in the air, was uneventful.
it was at the airport that things started to get weird. they’ve got those fancy automatic walkways. i was on the standing still side, just minding my own business. i was carrying my computer case and my backpack. i didn’t check any luggage, so i was on my way out to the parking lot. out of nowhere, this scruffy looking, bearded guy walked up to me from behind and stopped, looked me right in the eyes and said, “it’s at the bank of phones. go to the second phone and look in the business section of the phone book under the r’s.” i just looked back at him. i had no idea what he was talking about.
it was about 9:30 in the morning. i didn’t have anywhere to be for the rest of the day, so i checked it out. what was an extra five minutes to me? i got off the auto walkway and headed over to the phones. there, at the second phone in the phone book, just where he said, was an envelope. inside the envelope was a piece of paper with these words written on it, “we all go someplace when we leave, but we never actually get there.” that was it. i stood there, kinda dumb founded, for about two minutes. then the phone rang. i was a little startled. out of habit, i picked up the phone. the person on the other end said, “the beer god,” and hung up.
okay, i thought, and went on my merry way. my car, and every other one in the long term lot, had a flier under the windshield wiper. it was a reminder that all cars are subject to inspection entering and exiting the airport.
i drove out of the parking lot and headed west on the highway, toward home. i live out in the ‘burbs. so, it was kind of a trek from the airport. about four exits before mine, i saw a woman suddenly pull off the highway. she blazed through the red light and headed for the on-ramp back onto the highway. about a third of the way up the on-ramp, she pulled off, onto the grass, and got out. she ran over to the barbed wire fence and vaulted it. there, on the other side of the fence was a giant blow-up beer can. i was rubber-necking it pretty hard to see all of this. but i just had to know what she was doing. i got off at the next exit and got back on going east. i went back to that exit and got off. i got onto the west on-ramp and pulled up behind her car. i got out and went over to the fence. i didn’t have her confidence, so i pushed down the middle string of barbed wire and slipped under the top string. i walked over to her. she was kneeling down in front of the giant beer can. i looked around. we were in some field. there was nothing around, except the giant beer can and an orange extension cord going off through the field. she was crying. i knelt down next to her and put my hand on her shoulder. i said, “are you okay? can i help?”
she whispered, “i never thought it would actually be here. i saw all of this in a dream. the highway, the red light, the beer can. i just thought it was… i never actually believed… it’s just that, well, i’ve been so unhappy for so long. and, you know, dreams can be so weird. well, it’s just… it’s just that, well, i knew that i needed some kind of help. and here it is. it’s all real. it’s all, well, it’s all… i guess it’s gonna be okay now.”
i said, “but, you’re crying. are you sure it’s okay? can i get you some help? or maybe call someone for you. i have a cell phone, i could…”
she interrupted me, “mobile phone, they’re not really cell phones anymore. if it’s at all modern, that is.” she leaned back and sat. she wiped her eyes and looked at me for the first time. “sorry, it’s a pet peeve of mine. see, i’m kinda in the business. cell phone means that you are restricted by your coverage area. today, most phones are digital, so they are not restricted. the correct term is ‘mobile phone.’”
she sniffled a couple of times and wiped her nose across her arm. she looked tired. i said, “the beer god?” repeating what the voice from the phone had said earlier.
she went white and slack-jawed. she looked at me again, this time really taking me in. she whispered, “how do you know about him?”
that was a tough one. how was i supposed to explain to her what had happened in the airport? i said, “we are all going someplace when we leave, but we never actually get there, do we.” she screamed, quite loudly. and she just kept screaming. it started out scared, but turned kinda primal. she screamed herself horse, facing the beer can. then she collapsed.
i ran back to my car. this time, i vaulted the fence. i got the bottle of water i had purchased in l.a. and ran back. i didn’t quite get over the fence with my second jump. my pant leg caught in the barbed wire and i fell flat on my face. i got up and dusted myself off. that’s when i noticed that the blow-up beer can and the woman were gone. i looked back and saw that her car was gone, too. i looked around. nothing. not even the barbed wire fence. just me, the bottle of water about four feet in front of me, my car, and the on-ramp. i walked up to where the beer can had been. the grass wasn’t even disturbed. but, the orange extension cord was still there. i picked it up and gave it a shake. it snaked through the field, going north. i followed it.
i walked for an hour. well, it seemed like an hour. the extension came to an end. it was plugged into a socket, just out there in the field. in the other outlet a tv was plugged in. also, just out there in the field. it snapped on. there was no sound, but picture. it was an airplane. the scene zoomed in on the plane, right up to a window. it moved in through the window and moved up, so that i could see a person sitting in the middle seat. he was reading a paper. it was me. it was my yellow baseball cap and my clothes, but i couldn’t see my face. the picture zoomed in on the paper. it was that three-day-old paper. on the front page was a picture, in black and white, of a giant blow-up beer can with a woman kneeling in front of it. the caption under the picture said, “the second coming? only time will tell.” i absolutely did not remember seeing that picture in the paper. i decided to go back to the car and find that paper. i followed the extension cord back. except it did not lead back to the highway. when i had walked for another hour, i saw a farm house, which had not been there before. the extension cord ran up to the house, up the porch and was plugged into a socket on the front of the house. that was a little odd, i thought.
i walked up to the door and knocked. a little old man answered the door. he looked at me and said, “you watch too much tv.”
i said, a little taken aback, “what?”
he said, “i said, you watch too much tv. you think that any house you see in the country with candles in the windows is a safe place to stay. well, it doesn’t work like that.”
“but, you don’t have candles in the windows,” i replied.
“damn right, i don’t. this isn’t some kind of flop house. we live here. we don’t want your kind knocking on the door. that’s what the door mat says. it says, ‘if the trailer is a rocking, don’t come a knocking.’”
i asked, “the beer god?”
he said, “that’s right. we all go someplace when we leave, but we never actually get there. and let me tell you, sonny, this isn’t there. get it?”
“excuse me,” i said. “i didn’t mean to disturb you, but could you point me to the highway? i seem to have lost my way and can’t find my car. i thought it was over here, but i was obviously mistaken. i don’t mean to be a bother. i just wanted some directions.”
“the damn highway is that way, punk.” he pointed back the way i had come. “now, get the hell off my land before i fill yer ass with buck shot! you damn, dirty hippy!”
i said thanks and walked back the way i had come. i was starting to get hungry. all i had eaten that day was a sweet roll from the airport. it had to be past noon at this point.
this time, when i reached the end of the extension cord, it was plugged into another extension cord. this new one was yellow. it took a 90 degree turn, to my right. i kept following the cord. i walked and walked. after what seemed like another hour, i sat down. just then, my “mobile phone” rang. which was odd, since i had left it in the car. i fished it out of my pocket and answered it. a woman’s voice said, “orange to yellow, your a fine fellow. yellow to orange and there’s no rhyme,” and hung up.
okay, i admit it. at that point, i cried. i just started to cry. at first softly, then just plain sobbing. i hadn’t cried like that since i was a kid. i just let it all out. i have no idea how long i cried, but out of nowhere, a hand was on my shoulder. i looked up and it was the woman, the one i had seen crying. she knelt down and said, “hey buddy, you okay? you blew through that red light like a mad man. then, you just ran over here and started to cry. is there something i do to help? here, i brought you some water.” she handed me a bottle of water. i drank some and wiped my nose across my arm.
i said, “we all go someplace when we leave, but we never actually get there. isn’t that so? i just wanted to help, but here i am, all fucked up and crying. i just wanted to help… it isn’t like i am a bad person or anything. i just…”
she interrupted and said, “i know, you just wanted to help. here, let me help you up.” she got to her feet and proffered a hand. i took it and just kissed it.
i said, “thanks, i needed that. seems like it’s just not my day.” i got to my feet and looked at her. she was smiling. i asked, “does ‘the beer god’ mean anything to you?”
“that how you got here? drinking and driving doesn’t mix, buddy. lucky i’m not a cop. you could be in some serious trouble.”
“no, no. i haven’t been drinking. it’s just that, well this’ll sound a little silly, but i thought i you might know something about the beer god. i have no idea what it means, except that someone said it to me on the phone and i saw something in the paper about the second coming. guess i sound crazy. believe me, it has been a bad day.”
“look buddy, politics and religion are touchy subjects. i just wanted to see if you were okay. i’m not sure that you are, but there’s not much more i can do for you here. you wanna call someone? i have a cell phone.”
“mobile phone,” i corrected her. “cell phones are out-dated. today, most phones are digital and are therefore unbounded. so, they are not ‘cell phones’ but mobile phone.”
she cocked her head to the side and said, “i know, i’m in the business. i usually don’t make that mistake. can’t imagine why i said that.” she shook her head and looked away, behind her at the cars, hers parked in front of mine. “don’t tell anyone i said that, okay?”
“your secret’s safe with me,” i said and put out my hand. she shook it.
“name’s george,” she said.
“i’m lucas,” i lied.
“nice to meet you luke. look, you okay to drive? i gotta get home. it’s gonna get dark soon and i need to make dinner.”
“yeah, i’m cool. thanks for the water.”
“oh, it’s nothing. i always carry a lot of water. keeps me healthy. don’t forget your extension cord there,” and she pointed to a rolled up, orange extension cord.
“it’s not mine,” i said. george shrugged and walked back toward the cars. i hurried in font of her to the fence. i picked up the top strand and pushed the middle one down with my foot. she slipped through and held it the same way for me. i caught my shirt on the top strand on my way though. my shirt ripped and a piece was left in the fence. i looked at it for a minute, caught up in some momentary revelry. it wasn’t my shirt. it was a piece of my pajama tops, that i had worn the night before. i looked down. i was in my pj’s. she was staring at me with a weird look on her face.
“well, don’t just leave it there. that’s littering, and i won’t stand for littering. march, young man!”
i reached out and grabbed the fabric off the fence and held it up to the light. there was something written on it. it said, “curious george and the man in the big, yellow hat.” i turned to george and started to say, “can’t imagine why i am wearing…” but she was gone again. so was her car. so was the fence. there was just my car and the on-ramp. i walked over to it and opened the door. on the passenger seat was the three-day-old paper. on the front page was a picture of a man in a cowboy hat holding a monkey’s hand. the caption said, “missing: a new york explorer and his companion. they went someplace, but never actually got there.” the man in the hat was me.
on a cold and windy morning, a mother and her son were driving. she had been crying. he didn’t know why. they were using the old state highway instead of the interstate. it had snowed the week before, so by this time, the roads were clean but lined with a black and gray stripe of rock-hard snow, which mounded up toward the road blending back into pure white. it was cold and the heater in the car was having a hard time keeping the boy warm.
she started crying again. it was a quiet kind of weeping, never really climaxing into sobs. her shoulders would convulse a few times and she would sniffle a little and tears would run down her face. she would wipe them away with the back of her right hand, turning her head slightly to the right when she would wipe away the tears from her left cheek and then more significantly to the left when she go the right cheek.
it’s a funny thing, knowing your mother is crying but also knowing that she is trying to keep this from you. the boy was sophisticated enough to keep his eyes facing forward. he could smell her tears, an odor of wet and salt and mucus. it was faintly sour smelling. when the car’s heater struggle more than usual, say, going up a hill or accelerating quickly, the smell would travel to the boy’s nose in the crisp air of the car.
far off to the right, something glinted in the morning sun. this drew the child’s interest. he turned his head to keep his eyes on the object through the passenger door’s window. whatever it was was climbing into the sky, leaving a white, cloudy trail in its path. the trail wobbled across the sky at first before stabilizing into a straight line. after about a minute, the object turned and moved out of the boy’s sight. he moved closer to the window and craned his head down and around to keep it in his sight but the roof of the car was blocking his view. with his finger on the window, the boy traced the trail from the horizon to the top of the window.
“shit! shit-shit-shit!”
i look around this place and see his influence everywhere, from the tilley hat on the cd tower, the whiskey on the liquor shelf, and the filters for smokes. i’m not sure if it’s because he was so iconic or because i share some fundamental character properties with him.
his style, of living, of writing, of attacking weakness, that’s what truly appeals to me. the man, das ding on sich, that’s the key. the cigarette filter, it’s so symbolic. it kept him from having to put the cigarette in his mouth. it maintained a distance between a poison and his body. it also allowed him to really chomp down on the smoke. to bite into it in a way that would ruin a normal cigarette. and it kept the smokes out of his hands. he didn’t need to hold the smoke, his hands were mostly free, to type.
i should really go into the closet and drag out a typewriter for this. i should be touching paper and banging keys, slamming the return lever over with each line. and yet, if hst were starting up today, he would be using a computer. he would be banging the mechanical switches of an ibm model m keyboard (based on the sound and feel of his beloved selectric). i will use cherry mechanical switches and emacs. the modern selectric.
i bought the tilley hat because it’s the best hat made. i wear the chucks because they are the originals. these things came with me when i discovered hst.
rubes, that’s what we all were to him. the doomed, the easily fooled, the marks. he pitied and mocked us because we have given up the american dream. we have ceded from the dream of this country and readily handed away the freedoms our fathers and their fathers fought so hard for. go back to _fear and loathing in las vegas_, to the beginning. he spells out the defeat of the american dream and the goal of the trip is to recapture it. look at _fear and loathing on the campaign trail ’72_. he followed the election because he felt he needed to fight for the dream. he took action, with the only weapons he could — his words, to defeat an enemy he saw as a monster. and to hst, nixon was definitely a monster. a huge, slobbering, evil, and twisted man, compelled by his own weaknesses to dominate others — to take from the country what he lacked in himself.
a brief note about the life of richard m. nixon: graduated first in his class in high school and second in his class in college. he practiced with the football team, but didn’t see much game time. he went to duke on a full scholarship for a degree in law. he passed the bar in california and became a lawyer in a small town. he was in the navy during wwii. he was an excellent poker player, to the point where he used this skill to help fund his run for president in 1960. he redefined the roll of the vice president. he made the office highly visible and was the first person to use the office as a stepping-stone to the presidency. after his bitter defeat to kennedy in 60, he failed in a bid to become governor of california.
hst saw the man as a true freak, a divider of the country. a stodgy whiner willing to write off all opponents and nay-sayers, willing to doom the youth of the county, some in jail for drug use and some across the globe in an unwinnable war. and because the country elected this man, twice as vice president and twice as president, hst believed the future of the country to be doomed, why we are all rubes.
his lifestyle was extravagant, his habits exaggerated to mythic/comic proportions. he believed in taking everything to the limits possible. just look at the stories of his driving. high speed races through the streets of la and through the mountains of colorado, while drinking, smoking dope, and possibly typing. his wife, anita, was once asked by a naive local policeman if hst had any guns. she replied, “22, and everyone of them is loaded.” i remember his appearance on _late nite, with conan o’brien_ (november 6, 2003). he refused to come to the studio to do the interview, so conan went to owl ranch. hst then refused to do the interview unless they were shooting guns during the interview. he refused to answer conan’s questions until conan drank a pint of whiskey (still shooting large caliber, automatic weapons at barrels and stuffed animals). i remember him on charley rose. rose’s set is quite dark, with just the round table lit. yet, there was hunter with his tilley hat and aviator sunglasses on. he answered every question, but mumbled so badly, rose couldn’t understand the answers. it was obvious. it was hysterical. rose would ask a question. hunter would mumble something. rose would wait a minute, in clear distress, and then nod and ask another question.
hst saw himself as continuing in the tradition of f. scott fitzgerald and ernest hemingway. yet, he really created something new. he factored into his writing as heavily as the subject matter. i have been giving this matter a lot of thought lately. i believe that it was intensional. i believe that hunter put himself in his writings because he knew he was the cathartic element. he was a real life don quixote. he lived by a code we took as dead, the southern gentleman. he tilted against his enemies, sometimes windmills and sometimes actual dragons. his gift to us, was to make us all his sancho panza, allowing us all to realize that while crazy, he was necessary.
“in a place in [colorado], whose name i do not care to recall, there dwelt not so long ago a gentleman of the type wont to keep an unused lance, an old shield, a greyhound for racing, and a skinny old horse.”
hst, you are missed.
:P
so, i went in with high hopes and a steadfast determination to follow through. here i sit, with all these cards that used to be a house. it was sad, it was pathetic.
the problem seems to be that i got attached to the story instead of standing back, aloof. that, and i was busy.
:P
This is my last day of not turning out more than 2k words. nanowrimo will still let you in. Come on… Come on…
:P
we are in a very large, blue room. cerulean blue. there are no where near enough people to fill the room, but we’re all crammed together so it feels tight. a projector starts and we are watching an instructional film about something boring. i think it is about driving. the smith system, which is all about honking at everything. you know, to let them know you’re there.
dan says, “i think i see neil gaiman over there,” for no good reason.
the whole thing is filmed in point-of-view of the driver. it takes a turn for the weird when we follow the turning of his head. he looks out the passenger window to the shoulder and there’s a woman sitting cross-legged a little too close to the road. he honks, of course.
he pulls off a little past her and gets out. the door closes and he turns to walk back toward the woman. she is in shabby clothes and looks stoned, all blissed-out. he leans down to her and she looks up with her big eyes. he says, “hey honey [seriously, he calls her honey], are you all right?”
she says, “i’m waiting for the prophet. he’s coming.”
a murmur goes through the crowd, “the prophet?”
the pov turns and there is another scruffy looking hippy walking this way. this time it’s a man, with unkempt, frizzy hair. he kinda looks like stallman without the beard. he flops down next to her and begins to wait. he looks pretty stoned as well.
people in the audience begin to plop down on the ground as well. they all look stoned.
dan turns to me and says, “man, we need better drugs.” i just shrug. by this time, 4/5ths of the audience is sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking all blissed-out at the thought that in some instructional driving movie the prophet is coming. i’m full on freaked now.
julee grabs dan and i by the arms and drags us out of the blue room. the soothing, dark, cerulean blue room. we walk out to the car. she gets in the back seat and dan gets behind the wheel. i sit shotgun. we just sit there for a while. finally julee says, “man, those fucking propheters!”
dan starts the car and backs out of the spot. we pull out onto the road. dan does not honk. i’m not sure where he is going. we are on one of those suburban roads that switches from strip malls to empty fields with a soothing kind of regularity. just past the last strip mall, we see a man sitting cross-legged on the shoulder. and then another, and another, and another until they’re only about ten feet apart.
julee makes a little noise, a scared noise. she half whispers, “did you hear that? it sounded like a dog.”
“hear what?” i say.
“a dog. sounded like a dog howling. didn’t you hear it?”
“no,” says dan. “i didn’t hear anything”
“they say a howling dog will proclaim…” she kinda trails off.
“look, if i want to hear a dog howl, i can just stand outside my apartment for a while when i leave in the morning. rudie always howls when i leave,” i say. “don’t think she is proclaiming shit.”
“no, listen!” she snaps. “you can’t hear that?! it’s so clear. like it’s just…”
i turn around in my seat to look at julee. she is pulling her legs up on the seat until she is sitting cross-legged. “it means he’s coming. the prophet. a howling dog means the prophet is coming. i… it… the pro…” as i am looking at her, her face goes pale, then relaxes. her eyes get wide and her pupils dilate. she’s all blissed-out.
dan brakes harshly to keep from blowing a yellow. when he’s just about stopped, julee rolls over to the door and hops out. she jogs to the shoulder and just flops down, cross-legged. she leaves the door open.
“the fuck?!” yells dan. “fine! whatever!” he floors it. the door slams shut. “damn profit. all this damn country thinks a-damn-bout is money!”
“not profit,” i say, “prophet, like ezekiel.”
“oh…”
and then, i can hear it, plain as day. a dog howling. not far off. at first i am a little scared. i get all tingly and excited. “i think i can hear that dog, man. i hear something howling. do you? can you hear this, dan? it’s great! it’s like, i don’t know, music! like church music…” dan says nothing. “like bells wrapped in a howl…” still saying nothing. “i think… i mean… i think he’s…” dan is so quiet through all this. can he hear me? “dan, it’s just so… it’s so damn pretty.”
it is really hard to move my head, but i slowly look down and see that i am sitting cross-legged. i keep the effort up and slowly, so slowly, turn my head to the left to see dan. he is tucking his right leg under his left on the seat. he isn’t really driving anymore. he isn’t touching the wheel.
my head turns back forward, on its own. there’s a bright light behind us. very bright. too bright. it hurts but i don’t care. my eyes are so open. i can see my reflection and some of dan’s in the windshield. we both looked blissed-out, even as the pole comes rushing toward the car, spoiling the reflection of our peaceful faces.
he’s so close, the prophet.
me and pkd 2002-01-07
i was sitting at the coffee shop, ditching class, drinking coffee. i checked my watch, ten to noon. two hours to kill before i ditch my next class.
out of no where this guy sits down across from me. he says, “knew i’d find you down here. i heard that you have some questions.”
i had never seen this guy before in my life. “what?” i asked kind of lamely.
“what’s that you’re reading? kant? oh, come on! you gotta release yourself form this white man crap!”
“it’s for class,” i responded, also lamely. “who are you again?” you see, i was kind of annoyed now.
“i tell you what, you finish your chapter, or whatever and i’ll go get us something to drink. you look like you could use some more coffee. be right back.”
he got up and walked to the counter. i read a little more and put it away. when i looked up from my bag, he was back at the table.
“you still take it black, right? although that will change soon enough, i think.” i took a good look at this guy for the first time. he was big and bearded, the salt-and-pepper kind. he popped a pill and took a bottle of something out of his army-surplus field jacket and measured out some powder on his crook of his hand between his index finger and his thumb. then he snorted it and sneezed.
i asked, “snuff?” he nodded.
“never could stand cigarettes,” he said. “okay, here’s the deal. i’m here before you really need me, but that makes all this easier… for me at least. i know that you are really into conspiracies right now, and that is good. paranoia is the key to this thing. but forget all that crap right now. what do you know about hinduism?”
“i know that there are three main gods, they act as kinda a trinity. one creates the universe, one sustains the universe and one destroys it. that last part of time, before the universe is destroyed is the kali yuga. and the world is complete chaos then. oh, and there is this stuff called sam… sam-something that is the world we see, but that is all an illusion. right?”
he looks at me for a minute, all quiet. then he says, “how did you know all that? you’re not supposed to know all that yet.”
“i don’t know, i just do, i guess.” he made me feel sheepish.
“anyway,” he continued, “that’s right. but there are many other gods in that religion. where do you think they came form?”
“i don’t know. i guess that folklore always needs more than just a basic story. you gotta flesh it out with something.”
“wrong! dead wrong. how about norse mythology. you know any of that?”
i said, “my mom used to read that to me as a kid, but i’ve forgotten most of it. i mean, i know odin and thor and loki and asguard, but that’s about it. oh yeah, and the fates. there were the three fates who foretold of the destruction of asguard and odin. right?”
“that’s right. they did. and all of those stories end with ‘and everyone dies at the end of time.’ a little depressing, huh?”
“well, they did live in norway and sweeden, not like those places are paradise, you know.” i thought i was being cute there.
“the point here is that there is a great battle at the end of time. odin (and it is pronounced wodin, by the way) has been collecting the greatest fighters who worshipped him and the other norse gods in valhalla, where they feast and train for the final battle. now, odin knows that he will lose this battle, because he gave one of his eyes for a drink from the horn of knowledge. he has seen the future and knows that he will lose, but he also knows that the next world will be a perfect one. so, he’s okay with losing. but he is still going to put up one hell of a fight.
now, let’s compare that to the book of revelations. sound familiar? it’s just that odin is on the other side of that fight, if you will. but the myths are spun to make it still seem that he wears the white hat, if you catch my drift.”
by this time he is talking really fast.
he continued, “and what about the biblical back story? the angels and stuff. the fall. what about lucifer? he chose to rule in hell rather than serve in heaven. he made himself a god. or, at least, he wanted to be a god.”
now, i chimed in, “yeah, i always chose to see lucifer as the only of god’s angels strong enough to lose the presence of the word. he was chosen to fall.”
“i suppose that is one way to look at it, but it is probably wrong. certainly, god would foresee that lucifer would choose to fall, but why then would he create a creature who would manufacture a war in heaven? chalk it up to mysterious ways? i think not. no, i think that angels are more like humans than you are making them out to be. i think that they had emotions and the ability to choose just like you and i do.”
me again, “but what about that whole tree of knowledge thing. isn’t that when we got free will?”
“likely not, because how else could eve choose to eat of the fruit and then choose to make adam eat it, too. no, i think it is just as it was written. the fruit was one of knowledge, the knowledge of good and evil. no, angels could make decisions.”
“i see where this is going. you are saying that the norse gods were fallen angels. that’s good! because they would not only be fulfilling their wish to rule, to be gods, but they would also be taking worship away from god. i like that.”
“i knew you were smart. that’s right. and, lucifer would know that he had no chance to beat god, but he could be assured that god would do a better job next time around. what did he have to lose?”
“but,” i asked, “what does this have to do with hinduism? granted that there is a trinity in there, but there is no sense of tension amongst the gods, like in this? how do they fit in?”
“it’s like this,” and he chuckled a little, “the idea here is that there is little interaction between the gods, and the men, with the creator god. he is above it all, so to speak. that is the important idea.
“but don’t get bogged down in the metaphors. you know how it works. it is like science. no one model claims to exactly capture the nature of the universe. they only claim to accurately describe parts. because humans use what works!”
he was all worked up again. i took this opportunity to get us more coffee, not that he needed it though.
when i got back, he continued. “i touched on an idea that needs more explaining, i think. brahma is impersonate. he is not benevolent. he does not care. he sleeps. so, what can we know about him? what can we learn about such a power? who is the creator, really?”
“i don’t know. it is the unconscious of the creator which facilitates the creation. waking up is the end, right? so, to know the creator is to end creation.”
“exactly! to know the creator is to exit creation. that is the most important idea in all of religion. it is christian optimism that places benevolence upon the creator. and speaking of christians, isn’t is interesting that there are three separate gods in the bible. there is the creator, the holy spirit (sustainer of the faith), and the son who comes to end creation in revelations. interesting, huh?”
“you know,” i said, “i wrote a paper as a sophomore in high school that tried to discuss the shifting aspect of god in the bible. that the ancient hebrews could only deal with a vengeful god, and that the roman’s could only deal with a peace-loving god. i call it ‘the metaphor’.”
“yeah? that’s a great name for it. because that is what all religion really is. it is always metaphor. ‘god is love.’ ‘god is life.’ ‘jesus is the son.’ these are all metaphors. but, more than that, religion is a metaphor. that is just the way the human mind works. that is the way language works. (of course, those are equivalent statements, now aren’t they.) but the creator is the most important metaphor.”
“i don’t follow,” i admitted.
“who created the creator? or, better yet, who created the creator myth? we did. humans did. what does that mean?”
“i guess, on the surface, it would be the whys of the world. ‘why did my mom die when i was born?’ ‘why does the sun shine?’ those sort of things, right? but…”
“but…” he prompted.
“but, underneath it is a personification of reason. when we don’t understand something, we can pawn it off on god, or the creator. and under that, the creator is hope. we hope that there is more than just chance for our existence. it cannot just be luck. something should have intervened and made decisions. someone should have created the laws which allowed for the random interaction of chemicals which lead to life on this rock!” now i was worked up. i liked this guy.
“are you familiar with the idea of the prime mover?” he asked.
“yeah, that is the idea that a being moved first, of its own volition, which set in motion all of creation. i hate that idea.”
“me, too. but there is a piece of the puzzle in that idea. something which creates itself. with full knowledge of what it does. on minute there is nothing, the next minute there is god and he has a plan. i like that idea.”
now, it was my turn to agree. “me, too.” we sat for a minute in silence. we just drank our coffees.
“okay,” he said, breaking the silence, “now let’s really get to it. once, i believed that this world was a trap. it was a cage to keep us from the truth. i believed in a duality, there was us on the earth and our godlike astral selves. the word was a test that we placed ourselves in. we were at once both captors and captives. but, jesus broke that barrier and came back to show the rest of us the way out. meanwhile, some had become so invested in their earthly power, that they would keep us bound. and so, they opposed salvation. and that was the root of evil. i was close.”
“what do you mean?”
“do you believe that man is created in god’s image?”
“absolutely,” i said.
“what do you think that means?”
“i guess that means that we are in some way divine. that we possess some aspects of the godhead.”
“what if we are the exact image of the divine?”
“i don’t follow.”
“well, didn’t we talk about god willing himself into existence?”
“right,” i said, “he created himself.”
“right. but what is the time frame in that?”
“time frame?” i was completely lost.
“which came first, the willing or the creation?” he was trying to lead me now.
“wouldn’t they be simultaneous? the will is the act is the result. no time has passed. right?”
“well, what if time did pass? what if it was a retroactive thing?” i was giving him a funny look. “i mean, how would it work if god went back and created himself? okay, let’s assume that god exists and then wonders how he got where he is. so, he goes back, way back, and creates himself. just to solve that little logic problem. do you think that god could do that? do you think god is bound by time?”
i needed a few seconds to process. “okay,” i said, “what you are asking me is do i believe that god is not omniscient. no, i do not believe that.”
“you think that even god could work out that little problem?”
“i don’t think it is a problem for god. he does not suffer from existential dilemmas. mostly because he was there for his own creation.”
“and you were there for your own birth, what do you know about that. i know that is a bad argument. i know that the human brain is born not fully formed to facilitate the birth process. but, the idea is there. what do you know of your origins? with absolute certainty? is your dad really your dad? do you know absolutely? no you don’t. you can’t.”
“is this line of thought leading to a faith question? because that is not where i want this to go.”
“no, it’s not a faith thing. i posit that humans are god, are the creator. we breached the time barrier and created the universe just for us to inhabit. we went back in time to create ourselves, the creator, so that we could create our world and ourselves, the humans. we created the angels, so that some could fall and take up the roles of gods for us to follow. we are the sleeping brahma. and the whole thing works because it is our unconscious will to exist. when we wake up, it ends.
“i was on to something when i realized that we were dual in nature. but, the world we live in is the reason for creation. and the creator is inscrutable because knowledge of him is self knowledge. and you know, when you realize you are dreaming, you change the dream. the heisenburg uncertainty principle and schoedinger’s cat all rolled into one.
“how can we have free will and predestination at the same time? we can if we are both creator and creation.”
i glanced at my watch, stunned, and then looked up again. he was gone. i looked back down at my watch. it said ten to noon.