June 4, 2010
Leaves of Grass
God(s) and father(s). I haven't rambled in a while.
It's my Dad's birthday. Two days ago we discovered, in a long overdue conversation, that he in his kindhearted Christianity, and I in my supersoft atheism, aren't so far apart as I'd thought. We're both looking for a similar thing: what he calls the Christian God, and I call ______. And we both hold Jesus in reverence. We also both like Hebrews 11:6, which says, "...[God] is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him."
I'm still seeking, and never wandering far from home. Hopefully I don't get too flaky. Meh, whatever.
I drew a chalk labyrinth on my apartment parking lot last month. It's on your side, a labyrinth is. No dead ends. No tricks. Just a path, and you know exactly where it's going. So why are you doing it? I dunno.
You do so know why.
I used to pray, but was easily distracted. Reaching, striving, wandering... "oh, sorry Lord, my mind was somewhere else -what did you say?"
"Try the labyrinth, it might help you listen."
"Who is that? I can hear you just fine. Any other suggestions?"
No response. Silence. So I gave God my voice.
"Try, umm, I dunno. Try Leaves of Grass," I imitated. "Thoreau had it as an ally. I know you like him." Was I being sacrilegious? I meant my God-voice kindly, inviting the silence to take over any time it wanted to. No mockery. Only love.
Then God imitated me. "Yeah," he said, "Thoreau was the first person I heard say 'Slow down. You say it only takes an hour by train? You forgot all the time spent saving cash for the ticket. Try walking instead. I only work a couple months a year. Like a fur trapper in 1960s Saskatchewan.'"
Yes, folks still fur-trapped in rural 1960s Saskatchewan. My dad did. He was just a kid, but he remembers families who lived simple lives (what might be called poor) but only worked 3 months a year. "It was a different way of life," Dad told me. I'll bet.
Why work if you don't love it? Pay the bills, then stop. Like Ankh-af-na-khonsu. Like Sylphs. I too am foolish with money. Drop out.
What? Matthew this post is a convoluted mess. *o*o*
Don't listen to me, or anyone. Do what thou wilt.
Don't even listen to that.
Listen? How can you listen? These are letters, not sounds. And the links are nonsense-ish. So you can trust them.
The voice of God and the voice of my father are linked. I can't help it. Noticing that link may have helped me realize God was all in my head. But I like my father's voice, so it isn't that bad.
This post would've been better if I'd misspelled every word. And added more pictures. And begun more sentences with And. And, exactly. Destroy all language. Lovingly. Make words your slaves, not you theirs.
Don't learn old languages. Make up new ones and teach them to no one.