S. for save my sorry ass

A year ago I set out on the road to God. Renata de Dios was my guide. She was a messenger from God. There was a storm. We lost track of one another. I turned back. I went back to my house, the ghost-ridden lowly bungalow.

When I was on the road to God I imagined meeting S. again. In some sort of after-life. The inexpressible joy of that. How blessèd it would be to believe that. This is what Renata de Dios believes. This is what she hoped I would believe. But my mind shut down. The message was not getting through. Brain invaders had cut the receptors like phone wires.

So, I was alone again. At night, in a purple haze, I called out to S. in the dead room, formerly known as the living room: Can you hear me, honey? I’ve been trying to contact you. But the lines of communication must be down. Maybe the storm knocked the power out. I want to talk to you. There are so many things I want to tell you. I want to apologize for one. Some of the things I said…

I know what she’d say to that: You know what you call that, William? Thirty years of marriage. 

So why am I still beating myself up? I’m guilt-ridden by nature. That’s probably why I can’t get through to God. My mind is blocked by a lifetime of storm damage.

That’s why I needed S. S. for save my sorry ass, S. for save my miserable soul, S. for sanity, S. for spaghetti with delicious meatballs she used to make with her mother’s secret recipe.

But this is not about meatballs. I forget what this is about. Something about phone lines being down. Did we have a storm? I heard the roaring wind fly by the window. The lights went out. I couldn’t see in the darkness. I couldn’t see the road to God. 

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Quoth the Jackdaw: Caw, caw, caw

The Testament According to the Jackdaw of Unreason

The Jackdaw of Unreason believes in God. That’s the very reason he’s called the Jackdaw of Unreason, because you can’t look to reason to believe in God — you look to unreason.

Belief in God goes against reason. Believing in a fantastic realm of an afterlife is irrational.

Reason stands like a pillar of logic on a solid foundation of fact. The reason the sun will come up tomorrow is because it has been coming up for 4.5 billion years and it’s perfectly logical — in fact, it’s a fact — that it will come up tomorrow.

Reason is rational, reason is sanity. Believing in God is irrational and insane. Only a lunatic could believe in God.

Enter the Jackdaw of Unreason. He believes in God. That’s why he’s called the Jackdaw of Unreason.

But, Jackdaw, saith I, playing the devil’s advocate, why would you believe in a God when he referred to your species, namely, vultures, buzzards, ravens, and hawks as “an abomination” among the birds? [Leviticus 11:13-19]

But the jackdaw was a step ahead of me. “You are not the Bible scholar you apparently think you are, my friend, God was referring to creatures that should not be eaten. In any case that’s the Old Testament and irrelevant here, I’m talking about a testament for these times.”

“According to the jackdaw,” I put in.

“That’s what I’m here for, right?’

The Mad Bird of Metropolis

The jackdaw is a lunatic. Not the kind of lunatic whose insanity derives from the phases of the moon, but a bona fide genuine madman, I mean madbird.

The jackdaw tells someone with reason, Forget your reason, get some unreason. Reason won’t get you to the afterlife.

Furthermore, quoth the jackdaw, faith is unreason. Faith is believing in something when there is no proof that it exists. Faith is irrational.

So, get some faith, he says. Don’t question it, just stand firm like an irrational lunatic on a fantastic unfoundation of unreason.

Ah, that jackdaw, he’s one crazy bird.

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‘Imagine there’s no heaven…’


Man, I wish I was a Catholic. Catholics have it made. They believe in God, they believe in Life After Death, they believe in Heaven. A member of the bereavement group I used to belong to said to me at one of the meetings: I miss my wife so much but I know I’ll be with her in Heaven.

To which I replied:

Then why the hell are you in this group, man? This group is for bereaved people who have lost loved ones and will never see them again. You’re like a guy who just put his wife on a plane knowing you will join her later in a wonderful vacation spot. I do not have such a belief, or any such expectation. I wish the hell I did. All I know is I have lost my wife forever and will grieve for her for the rest of my life, whereas you are temporarily—not even bereaved—but temporarily without your wife. You, sir, are an imposter.

That was my last meeting.

As far as I can see — and I’m not saying that is the ultimate horizon, but it is as far as I can see — death ends in oblivion, and oblivion is a place, a real place — we were all there before we were born — whereas “heaven” is not a place, not a real place, it is an unreal place or at best a surreal place, where fearful or highly imaginative imaginations imagine themselves going when they die, to be reunited with loved ones and so on and so forth.

But, alas, according to all the evidence, it is highly unlikely to happen — but here is the saving grace for believers (bless their souls), they will never know if it doesn’t happen because they will be in oblivion where there is no awareness or sensibility or anything at all, in fact, nothing but black unknowing unconscious emptiness.

So therefore, accepting, or at least suspecting that there is no heaven, the heaven as imagined by over-imaginations, and since it is more likely (as far as I can see) to be a black oblivion that awaits us all, I would gladly (rather than linger ungladly in a living hell of grief) go to oblivion to join my wife, for even though I won’t know it, I will be with her again, albeit in a world of nonexistence.

To which my lighter self said: Lighten up, dude! Have another brandy and go to bed. Somewhere there are wildflowers.

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