Not Banned in Boston

The Golden Compass has been banned and pulled from the library shelves in some parochial school districts because the author is an admitted atheist. Having neither read the book or seen the film adaptation, I cannot comment on the literary or aesthetic merits of either. However I can comment on the level of censorship displayed by the school districts – and thus by the larger Church. It’s my understanding that the problems are not with the content of the books but with the authors personal spiritual (or lack thereof) beliefs.

As I’ve said before some of the most Christlike people I know are atheists. They “minister” to the sick, the hungry, the poor – to all who need aid and comfort. Some of the most deplorable people on the planet have no issue proudly professing their work for God Almighty (cf. the current administration). I am condemned to Hell for my reading choices, the films I watch, the way I love, my personal beliefs, and spiritual practices. These people with their hatred, bigotry, and inspired demoralization of the masses are, apparently, given the keys to the kingdom and seated nearest the Throne of God.

With Thomas Jefferson a Deist (at best) we should toss out the Declaration of Independence. I’ve read theories that Lincoln was a closeted atheist, so we repeal the Emancipation Proclamation. I’d bet there were more Freethinkers, atheists, and agnostics among the men who wrote our Constitution than most people would like to think, so let’s just put that little document in the shredder and be done with it. If anyone ever wants to know what scares me most, it’s that this thinking will be seriously taken up, and people will actually try to put such a culling into practice.

But then I’m one of those liberals who believes in a free exchange of ideas. I find it a better world when I can find my Truth and allow you to have yours. It makes the world a better place, and when we talk I’m hearing something besides the echo of my own voice.

Encounters

taunt me
with your suave look
and savage repartee
tease me
with your sexual scrum
and psychedelic kiss
dance me
into the heavens
by dragging me to hell
bait me
backward to your will
i’ll be your errant boi
keep me
as the secret
we’ll never tell your wife

Saints & Sinners

I’m currently reading Not in Kansas Anymore: A Curious Tale of How Magic is Transforming America by Christine Wicker. While I’m not  far along, she has given me something to ponder. “An angel and a devil are only a breath away,” she quotes a gentleman as saying. She was in a room full of folks who share my Gothic outlook on life, sex, and everything. Is there, then, something willing us to be lords of the flies or spurring us to a higher plane?

HP in the Breakroom

First let me say with all assurance that I did not cast a spell on anyone, nor did I draw my wand. It was, though most interesting today when I was in the break room heating my lunch and talking with a friend of mine; she asked me a question about the last HP novel. I explained that I hadn’t finished the book, but I’d read the Epilogue. Our senior executive vice president was standing at the microwave next to me, and commenced speaking against the blasphemy I’d committed by reading ahead. I promised, quite faithfully, that I wouldn’t do such a heinous thing again. Well, there aren’t any more HP books forthcoming are there? I’d just run about four miles and burned off almost seven hundred calories, and now I wanted nothing more to refuel and rehydrate, but I have an exec telling me I ought not read ahead in a novel. In all honesty, it’s quite funny, and it just goes to show the cultural infiltration of HP. However, if it somehow becomes a performance issue, I think I’ll have to seek legal counsel.

Beyond that though, I wonder if HP’s real charm is that the books allow us to enter a world where no matter how dark, dangerous, and degenerate things become the Good prevails and the Light triumphs over the darkness. Thinking back a little ways, during the worst part of the Monica-gate I became extremely interested in baseball, and I owe a great debt to McGwire and Sammy Sosa for giving me something to look forward to when I turned on the evening news. The game has taken on a whole new meaning for me, and I’ve become a fan of the game – not an avid one who can rattle off stats and scores, but one who now truly appreciates not just the human condition but what we humans do to find hope in a seemingly hopeless world.

Imaginary 42 (more questions)

In the Hitchhiker’s Guide we learn that god doesn’t exist because the Babel fish does. Apparently, proof of god’s existence means there’s no god, the babel fish is proof, ergo there is no god. But if only god could have created the babel fish, and god doesn’t exist, then there’s no babel fish, and if there’s no babel fish, then there might just be a god. However, there is a babel fish – in the story at least. I’ve just managed to confuse myself. The logic of the whole thing is pretty fuzzy at best.

While I’m playing with a novel, there are people in this world who have such debates over things that just as whimsical but taken far more seriously. At it’s base, for example, intelligent design makes an amount of sense. Science has found the how of a Master Plan. It seems pretty straight forward and non-threatening. Let’s face it, the Bible is lacking in serious detail. As I’ve said before, I’m one of those Pagans as devoted to my beliefs as anyone at any MacChurch. But I don’t claim to have any of the answers about the plan. In fact, I strongly suggest running from anyone who says she/he knows what God(s)/Goddess(es) want.

Without challenging my faith in the least, science explains a lot. I understand, at a basic level anyway, evolution. I understand chemical processes – after all that’s what cooking is. I don’t understand how life began from that series of chemicals stewing in a primordial lake. Was there Divine intervention? I don’t know. My faith and my science fail me on that one. And at the end of the day, does it matter? We’re here –at least I believe we’re here. The how of it might be interesting, but it doesn’t change the facts.

While we’re here on this little blue dot dancing around a yellow star, shouldn’t we worry more about so many other things than if I’m going to hell for whom I love or how I pray and to whom? Is the non-believer somehow less a person than me? Wouldn’t it be great if the God in whose name many have been killed, tortured, maimed, bankrupt, and ostracized really did step down and call a halt? Sad to say, but I bet His most ardent followers wouldn’t listen. After all, who knows more about the mind of God. The deity himself or his followers?

>42

I had my Lyra in listening to a story about felines as I came up the walk this afternoon. I stopped at the mailbox and casually glanced at the return addresses of the envelopes: credit card statement, charity solicitation, and an envelope from: Office of the Clerk, United States District Court. Hmm, that takes the wind out of your sails very quickly. There’s always a full body, fight or flight that happens when you see something like this. I rushed up the steps and all but went through the door without the benefit of unlocking and opening it. I opened the envelope to the wondrous and exciting news that I’ve been summoned (again) to federal jury duty. Last time maybe it was Federal Circuit Court; it’s been over a year, and I’ve all but blocked the summons from my memory. I was never called to go into the court house much less to sit on a jury.

I’ve made the call to my Tattoo Artist. I love saying that! It’s like saying: My Barber, only it has the element of the Other Side of Life. Let’s be honest, many men have barbers; few have tattoo artists. As usual, I digress. Anyway, a very nice – and probably heavily tattooed – man answered the phone, took my information, and The Artist will call me back (presumably at his leisure). So in about a week I hope to be tattooed on the left arm as well as the right. I know many people would advise against such. In fact, my parents would have a virtual pace of asses were they alive. I would, of course, remind them that in a mere seven days, I’ll be the Ultimate Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything. And as I am in charge of questioning the answer, I need to have the tattoo. It’s vital to finding the Question. And who knows. After I get inked I might just go out, get drunk, sleep with truck drivers, and finally get to use my diaphragm. Or at least by some socks.