In the clouds

I’d quote Greg in this write, but it’s just too nauseating to put that down on paper.

All the religious mumbo-jumbo, reading from that idiot work of fiction, some book they call “The Bible.” It was translated 4,723 times from the original Hebrew and, somewhere along the way, they reversed the text from leftward to rightward. And when they translated the Bible to the real language of God – English, with an American accent somewhere between Cleveland and Detroit, but not too Midwestern because those people are kind of dim in a goody-goody sort of way – they gave us a dose of reality, the hard way.

Alternative reality, the nauseating way. Technicolor-yawn-into-porcelain variety.

So here was Greg, reading something from the Book of John (I guess that’s one of the Gospels, isn’t it) as our mother lay dying in the nursing home. Greg’s always been something of a religious fanatic, ever since he became a Presbyterian after marrying Millicent the Dental Hygienist. Poor Mother, raised a traditional Episcopalian to believe that religion was something you didn’t wear on your sleeve, especially during cocktail hour. Martinis and cheese dip, yes – that good ole’ time religion, no. Here she was, unable to communicate, breathing about three times per minute, and having this hocus-pocus forced on her.

I’d say something to get the idiot to stop this, but I long ago gave up on talking to Greg. You see, Greg doesn’t believe in the resurrection. He knows – and no, I don’t just mean he believes intensely. He really does know. He’s got proof on file that God is a really old white guy with a long gray beard who wears white robes and has a really bright halo around his head. And that his son Jesus got resurrected on the third day after being crucified.

Of course, "proof on file" has as much meaning here as it does for a porn producer and all those "proof on file" ages for actors sporting nothing more than peach fuzz above their upper lip.

My mother just breathed her last, so I’m bringing this one in for a landing so I can go have a good cry. But first, a question. If Jesus saw his shadow when he rolled away the stone and came out of that cave, did spring come early to the Holy Land that year?