I got to thinking that I didn’t nearly get all the detritus from my skull yesterday. It does get clogged up a lot. Mostly when I get too busy to devote sufficient time to digging it out piece by piece and examining each linty item in detail. Only then can I feel refreshed. No doubt you understand.
I’ve been reading tons of blogs, and reading seemingly tons of books (4 at a time, last count). I’m getting word-logged (similar to waterlogged I suspect). Too many fact remnants skipping around, bumping into places they shouldn’t be, confusing me.
Now look. I’m not depressed. No, even though it is barely 40 degrees outside and the wind is howling, and we gotta cover the peppers and herbs tonight. AND there is no sun. And that’s just here. That’s to say nothing of the Gulf Coast, Tennessee, and Greece, the immigration issues, and the constant banter of lying lips throughout the mediocre media.
We were watching that “The History of Us” last night. It’s fairly lousy, too much flag waving, too little really new news. As I was watching the ladies in their long cotton dresses walk along side of wagons headed West, I said, “It all looks so peaceful and fun. Nice ambling walk across the grasslands. Except, I know it was freakishly hellish most of the way.” Mean and hard and cold and wet, and awful.
But they had one solace I don’t have: They didn’t have to have all this STUFF in their heads to think about. Nope, just put one foot in front of the other, and trust in God, and hope they made it to the next stop, and cook and sleep, and get up and do it all over again, day after day. Not a lot to clutter up the mind. Plenty of room to recite psalms and prayers.
Sometimes I reflect on the little lone scientist who studies African red scorpions and has for 25 years. He knows everything there is to know, is the expert the experts call up. He eats, breathes and sleeps ‘em. Devotes every waking minute to thinking about them. He doesn’t know about anything else, and is perfectly happy in his created world. Sleeps like a baby.
I envy him for a second or two, before I return to sorting through the pile of papers before me that are my thoughts. By the by, do you have stacks of papers around? I do. A pamphlet here, a insert from Church, something I ran off from the Intertubes, a subscription I can’t afford, but can’t quite throw away yet, you know, junk, but not? In frustration, I pile through it sometimes, and give up and heave the whole mess in the trash. I seldom if ever discard anything I really wanted, for I seldom can’t find it later.
Atheists piss me off sometimes. I can get it if you can’t bring yourself to believe. Surely I can, for doubt is huge in belief, believe it or not. But if I was one of those agnostic types, and I was, so I know, I would be profoundly sad at the realization that THERE IS NO GOD. I surely would cuz I surely was. When God smacked me in the head one day, I was profoundly happy He did. And I was no longer sad.
So why do atheists take such glee in making fun of believers? I don’t get that. I suspect it’s because they are very afraid. Afraid they are wrong, and so they want lots of reinforcement. Other’s like themselves who are afraid but want to put on a brave front. And no braver front than to ridicule God. As if God can be reduced to a scientific proof.
If you are a non-believer, then why are you out there writing about it all day long? They say it’s because they view religion as dangerous and as the cause of most of humanities problems. But they only attack fundamentalist thinking and everybody knows they are right in that. So why don’t they admit it and leave the rest of us alone? We are the ones doing the “caring for the sick and the poor, and feeding the hungry, and tending to the incarcerated.”
They are busy trading silly insults with each other and pontificating on philosophical propositions that convince no one but themselves, prove zero, and serve only to impress themselves that they can tell a Spinoza from a Plantinga. Whoopdedoo! Go raise money for Haiti and do something worthwhile will ya?
Been having a blast reading Dorothy Parker in small servings. A short story or so at a time. Wonder wordsmith she was. Wonderful at dialogue. I can hear the high pitched voice of a society dame just yammering away, or the mournful lament of a man who can’t understand the cold correctness of his girl. I can hear the voices in stereo in my head. I always thought I would have been a good actor.
But then aren’t we all? Good actors I mean. Damn few of us are real. We snap on the facades faster than Marshall Dillon could whip out his shootin’ iron to put down the bad guy in Dodge. I switch from smarmy, smart mouth writer to wifey, to church lady with nary a loss of step ya know. I bet you do too, even when you say you don’t. Or is it just phases of a full personality?