Tag: Heaven

A layman’s guide to God


If I could find God I think I would find my wife.

I’m not referring to the God of Sunday School and the God of organized and disorganized religion — a divine being surrounded by bright light who lives in a magical place called Heaven.

By God I mean the mystery behind the universe.

The word God is a paltry three-letter inadequacy for the universe. The mathematical precision alone that keeps it all together, spinning and constantly moving at unbelievable speeds is miraculous. One centimeter off and it all goes haywire.

God needs a more spectacular name. Take the word supernatural. That’s an impressive word. But God and the supernatural are not synonymous, because God also includes the natural world — the earth and the oceans and mountains and cities and houses and people and animals, everything we see around us with our available senses, the senses that currently are the only ones available to us.

But in the supernatural word, other senses must come into play, senses we aren’t yet aware of. There may be living people who have some supernatural sense, or think they do. But I think only in death does the supernatural world, that otherworldly dimension possibly become available to us and we become part of it, part of the universe, part of the miracle.

Unbelievers will say this sounds like the same pie-in-the-sky stuff as the God in Heaven surrounded by divine light. It requires the same faith or suspension of disbelief, certainly.

Faith carries a heavy burden for a five-letter word. The word for God should at least have five letters. Miracle has seven.

Seven. Now we’re getting somewhere. In Biblical studies, seven is the number of “completeness and perfection.”

The Bible itself was originally divided into seven parts: the law, the prophets, the writings or psalms, the gospels and acts, the general epistles, the epistles of Paul, and the book of Revelation. The total number of originally inspired books was forty-nine — seven times seven.

That works for me. God is the Miracle. The Miracle of the universe. If we become part of that when we die, we find the undead.

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Quoth the Jackdaw: Caw, caw, caw


The Testament According to the Jackdaw of Unreason

Belief in God goes against reason. Believing in a fantastic realm of a glorious 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. The very reason he’s called the Jackdaw of Unreason is because it doesn’t take reason to believe in God it takes unreason.

But, Jackdaw, saith I, playing the devil’s advocate, why would you believe in a God who calls you — that is, the jackdaw, the screech owl, the short-eared owl, the little owl, the fisher owl, the white owl, the eagle, the vulture, the buzzard, the falcon, the raven, the hawk, the stork, the heron, the ostrich, the sea gull and the bat — “an abomination” among the birds? [Leviticus 11:13-19]

The Mad Bird of Metropolis

Does that seem unreasonable to you? the jackdaw slyly asks.

Yes it does, say I, falling into his trap.

I rest my case, he says with a wink of the eye.

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

Get some faith, says the jackdaw. 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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Message to Saint Gabriel, c/o Wherever

Art by Ralph Steadman

Dear Saint Gabriel:

This may be a tall order but I need to get a message to my wife. I’m writing to you because you’re the patron saint of communication in charge of messages etc.

I’m in the communications business myself, so from one communications guy to another maybe you could get my message to the head of the queue, because I guess you get a lot of requests like this — unless you don’t get any because you don’t exist.

Anyway, I’d be most grateful if you could get in touch with my wife, gone now twenty-one months, and ask her to contact me. I’m thinking along the lines of cerebral communication, spiritual communion, a flash of enlightenment in my mind or a feeling in my heart, a sensation, however fleeting and ethereal and ephemeral, even imaginary, something that would give me even the briefest indication or hope that she is somewhere out there with you guys and not in oblivion.

Tell her that life is hell without her and I’m getting to the point where it won’t be worth it. The merest hint, however, that she is Somewhere and not Nowhere would keep me going.


A while back I asked the Silver Surfer to try and find her or get a message to her but even traveling 500,000 light years in seconds and visiting billions of galaxies he came up empty — hard to believe, I know.

But I reckon you have an inside track that even the Silver Surfer doesn’t know about. So I’m asking for your help, which, at the risk of sounding overly dramatic, is increasingly becoming a matter of life and death.

Yours sincerely, 

Billy Pickle

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