Going down the deep end

help me, he cries from the depths

“All that we fear we hold close to ourselves to survive. So if you’re drowning and you see a corpse floating by, hang on to it because it will rescue you.” — Tom Hardy

. . . . . . . The Christian mythology has a saying: “God helps those who help themselves.” Which is a neat little pretzel puzzle that really says you’re on own, bub. No human-caring God is out there, helping you or not.

. . . . . . . Christianity makes a bad religion because its chief figures (God and Jesus) are so much larger than the small figures (the average worshiper). And to complete the Trilogy, there is the mystery of the Holy Ghost, which makes no sense. It’s just there. It doesn’t seem to signify anything.

. . . . . . . So we have one-third nonsensical, one-third sucker, and one-third megapower.

. . . . . . . What to make of this? The Bible devotes loving care to covering the betrayal and torturous death of Jesus Christ. It does what black men do when they get called the “n-” word; it owns it and uses it as a wall against outsiders. Jesus’s “n-” word is he was spat at and mocked and couldn’t escape his tormentors, and he welcomed it because he wanted to take away our sin.

. . . . . . . And yet even then he was begging his Father to “take this cup from me.” He knew that getting nailed up on the cross would hurt like hell for literally hours.

. . . . . . . But God did not care, because Jesus was fulfilling his appointed role. Everything about the final stages of Christ’s life tells a sordid tale.

. . . . . . . What the whole story says is that Jesus pissed off the local religious establishment — and then the Imperial Romans, in order to have peace, waved a hand to ax his life.

. . . . . . . That makes sense. It mirrors Mohammed’s life later on and, even later, the life and death of Joseph Smith of Latter Day Saints fame. These men were attacked for their beliefs and, moreover, their attempts to change things.

. . . . . . . Mohammed escaped after first running away but Joseph Smith met a violent end. Smith and his brother were killed by the mob. They just didn’t know when to shut up.

. . . . . . . It reminds me of a tale I heard in jail (I was there for trespassing) when an inmate told the story of a Preacher Type who kept going on and on and the inmates had enough of it and beat the living crap out of him.

. . . . . . . Is there “something” out there? In my personal life, I seem to have gotten unusually lucky at critical points along the road. It’s like there is something working hand-in-glove with me. I seem to be in just the right place at just the right time and then things were “dropped” into my hands, as if saying “go along, take it from here.” I wouldn’t call it God helping those who help themselves. I wasn’t in trouble at all. It’s like to my advantage I was given an unfair head’s up in the right direction.

. . . . . . . Even more than doing something right, there were the things I didn’t do. I didn’t complete my university degree. If I had gotten that, I would have been locked into a lifestyle that was soft and prosperous and ultimately self-negating. I would have, based on my good looks and smooth voice and charisma and tech ability, become a management type getting good stock options during the big tech bubble of the Turn of the Millennium.

. . . . . . . Instead, the period of my formative years were spent getting to know secrets of the universe and investing time in one person.

. . . . . . . I never would have done this if I hadn’t been correctly diverted from my path.

. . . . . . . My gut feeling was accompanied by a quiet still voice saying why not try this and when the gut and the voice were in harmony I agreed to go along with what they said. It’s like I had a pair of partners, one not greater than the other, which were on my side for once, giving me the kind of speculation that was well-grounded and wise.

. . . . . . . And that’s the thing: even as a child, I was wise beyond my years. At a friend’s house, walking to my bike, I came to the realization that time would keep progressing and all things would pass away. I touched the leaves of a bush as I thought this. Rewind to age 5 when I was with my siblings and I wept watching TV because I realized all things die and pass away. Wisdom.

. . . . . . . So something seems to be going on. I’m getting help along the way, but it’s small helping hands pushing me in the lower back; and more often than not, it’s help in NOT doing things rather than in DOING things. And it’s incumbent upon me to listen to things. This is why dreams are so important to me, because when I remember things they’re almost always relevant, and the more I remember, the better off I am.

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