If the key to salvation is left on the top of a disgusting truck stop urinal, I'm pretty sure I'm fucked. I'm just sayin'.
Showing posts with label religon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religon. Show all posts
Friday, March 20, 2009
Blessed Urinal
If the key to salvation is left on the top of a disgusting truck stop urinal, I'm pretty sure I'm fucked. I'm just sayin'.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
You Get What You Pay For
The Major Label record companies have been struggling to find a new way to provide an old product. Part of the problem is, of course, that it's tough to sell something that everyone can get for free. The other thing that I keep hearing is that the major players have done a bad job of giving the people what they want. I think 2008 has been a pretty good (though not stellar) year for music, but I realize that my tastes run left of center. So, it left me wondering what is it that people really want? Is it the canned pop churned out by Timbaland's production factory? Is the it recycled metal of Hinder? The real answer is actually far more sinister than you might have thought.
Since Apple rolled out iTunes, the top three tracks sold are:
Jouney's Don't Stop Believing. 2 million sold.
Sweet Home Alabama. 1.46 sold.
Bohemiam Rhapsody 1.44 sold
At .99 each, that's almost $5,000,000.00 generated for these three songs. I think The People are pretty clear about what they want. Think about it. "Don't Stop Believing" is the number one most downloaded song in iTunes history. When was the last time you actually listened to this song? Shudder.
- - - - - -
Speaking of shudders...Yesterday I start to head up to the third floor of my office, and there at the foot of the stairs is a religious tract. I read it on my way up. Basically, it let me know that I'm either bound for heaven or hell. You see, I might be a nice guy doing good things in the world (petting puppies, picking up litter, holding doors open for people so they can enter the room first, etc.) but I'm bound for damnation because I was born into sin, and the wages of sin is death.
Fortunately, there's hope for me. If you don't know the path to salvation, send me your address and I'll forward over the pamphlet to you no questions asked.
After I got upstairs I found another tract on one of the file drawers. Wow. Someone's been a busy little creepy Christian.
A couple of weeks ago, Jen and I watched a documentary on HBO about organized religion and its effect on politics and America in general. It was done by an atheist woman, so the intent and content was pretty deliberate in my opinion, but it was still pretty well done. One of the things that struck home to me was a minister who basically said that Christians were the only group of people in the US that it is ok to discriminate against. They're made fun of in television. They're portrayed as bumbling and hypocritic. I felt a bit bad about that, because I've been known to laugh at some Christian bashing myself, and there was part of me that wondered why that was OK if making fun of race or sexual orientation isn't. I decided that I'd try to be less judgmental, and adopt a more "Whatever people find peace in is good enough for me" kind of attitude.
But the tract the other morning reminded me why some Christians can be fun to laugh at. It's the recruitment...that ideology that requires them to swell their ranks that sets them apart.
Would we really feel the same about other "protected classes" if they were really out there trying to get you not to just accept them as they are, but actually change your entire life to adopt their beliefs? What would you do if two gay men went door to door through your neighborhood inviting you to "Gay Classes" held Sunday Mornings or passed out flyers that were titled "Anal or Oral?" What if you went into the bathroom at your office and there was a note taped to the door telling you you should abandon all of your beliefs in a higher power or run the risk of wasting what little time you have left on Earth feeling guilty about looking at those naughty pictures when you were 15?
Tell me about it if I ask or seek out the information. Otherwise, be quiet and let me climb the stairs in peace.
Since Apple rolled out iTunes, the top three tracks sold are:
Jouney's Don't Stop Believing. 2 million sold.
Sweet Home Alabama. 1.46 sold.
Bohemiam Rhapsody 1.44 sold
At .99 each, that's almost $5,000,000.00 generated for these three songs. I think The People are pretty clear about what they want. Think about it. "Don't Stop Believing" is the number one most downloaded song in iTunes history. When was the last time you actually listened to this song? Shudder.
- - - - - -
Speaking of shudders...Yesterday I start to head up to the third floor of my office, and there at the foot of the stairs is a religious tract. I read it on my way up. Basically, it let me know that I'm either bound for heaven or hell. You see, I might be a nice guy doing good things in the world (petting puppies, picking up litter, holding doors open for people so they can enter the room first, etc.) but I'm bound for damnation because I was born into sin, and the wages of sin is death.Fortunately, there's hope for me. If you don't know the path to salvation, send me your address and I'll forward over the pamphlet to you no questions asked.
After I got upstairs I found another tract on one of the file drawers. Wow. Someone's been a busy little creepy Christian.
A couple of weeks ago, Jen and I watched a documentary on HBO about organized religion and its effect on politics and America in general. It was done by an atheist woman, so the intent and content was pretty deliberate in my opinion, but it was still pretty well done. One of the things that struck home to me was a minister who basically said that Christians were the only group of people in the US that it is ok to discriminate against. They're made fun of in television. They're portrayed as bumbling and hypocritic. I felt a bit bad about that, because I've been known to laugh at some Christian bashing myself, and there was part of me that wondered why that was OK if making fun of race or sexual orientation isn't. I decided that I'd try to be less judgmental, and adopt a more "Whatever people find peace in is good enough for me" kind of attitude.
But the tract the other morning reminded me why some Christians can be fun to laugh at. It's the recruitment...that ideology that requires them to swell their ranks that sets them apart.
Would we really feel the same about other "protected classes" if they were really out there trying to get you not to just accept them as they are, but actually change your entire life to adopt their beliefs? What would you do if two gay men went door to door through your neighborhood inviting you to "Gay Classes" held Sunday Mornings or passed out flyers that were titled "Anal or Oral?" What if you went into the bathroom at your office and there was a note taped to the door telling you you should abandon all of your beliefs in a higher power or run the risk of wasting what little time you have left on Earth feeling guilty about looking at those naughty pictures when you were 15?
Tell me about it if I ask or seek out the information. Otherwise, be quiet and let me climb the stairs in peace.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Washed in the Shampoo of the Lamb
While the man was never portrayed as an elitist, I would have expected his first foray into the secular business world to be a little more "high end". Maybe a Lexus dealership or something...
Whatever. For those of you in the Central Ohio area, you now have a place to buy some shampoo that will quite possibly increase your chances of slipping through those pearly gates. Hey man...take any edge you can get.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Pops
My father started preaching the gospel when he was 8 years old. At first, he was a novelty, the cute kid who they would pull up to speak at Camp Meetings who would speak for a few minutes about Jesus' love. By the time he was 13 though, he was getting press in the local papers when he would be speaking at a revival. True, the novelty was still there, but he began to build steam. He wasn't yet 15 when he started getting air time on the local radio station to preach.
I don't know a whole lot else about him or his childhood. I know his father was abusive, and he once told me about catching a beating because he climbed up on their new camper after he was told not to. The fact that they were all playing hide-and-seek and the kids whose parents owned the camper were all hiding on top of it didn't factor in. I know that he was locked in closets as punishment, sometimes for as much as 24 hours. I know his favorite toy (a scooter) was taken away from him each Sunday as his sacrifice for the Sabbath. My mother told me he had a homosexual experience in high school and then again in college, but I have no idea how he figured those actions into his narrow interpretation of religion.
She met him in a church run university where he was the most popular boy in school. Girls flocked to hear him preach, and while he wasn't much of a student in general, his passion for the Word of God carried him through school. My mother dropped out to marry him after he graduated, and they became traveling evangelists until she got pregnant with my brother. They settled down in a small house to focus on building a family, and he took on his first church.
An amazing speaker, my father was really best suited for evangelism. He could sweep into a town, hold a week long revival, get people running the aisles and then head on to the next town. Taking on a church required paperwork, money management, and working with a board of individuals that want to see the corporation of Jesus run in a certain way. This was a challenge for him, and he leaned on my mother to fill in the gaps which she did to the best of her ability.
Still, it would usually just be a handful of years until things would start to go bad. The Church Board would be against him, or circumstance, and then God would call our family to a new city and a new church. So we started a cycle of moving around through Indiana and Ohio, from church to church, holding what I've come to think of as "Extended Revivals".
When it comes to his adult life, I know almost less than I do of his childhood. He left the family when I was ten, so my memories are of a caricature...not a fully formed person. I know that he had affairs. I know he was always seeking out get rich quick schemes, investing money we didn't have into pyramid schemes and roofing businesses. He sold advertising. He sold sleeping bags along road sides. The electricity would get turned off. We ate a lot of fried bread.
He loved to pick up hitchhikers, something that made my mother so uncomfortable she wouldn't talk to him for the rest of the day. He was devoted to his congregation and loved to be a part of that bigger family. He loved to give gifts, and is truly a person that I think liked giving more than receiving.
But in all this, I never saw someone speak the way he did. He would get entire congregations moving.
He would be speaking, preaching, teaching and then the mood would strike him. He would jump from the pulpit and sit behind the organ and start to play and sing, getting the congregation to stand and join him. It wasn't choreographed, it felt organic and natural. A piece of scripture would trigger a song, or vice versa. His sermon notes were just a blueprint, a jumping off place, and he rarely gave the same teaching the same way twice. He had years of notes and sermons, and that was just his own work. He also had hundreds from his father as well and would sometimes pull an old sermon out he remembered from his childhood.
After I moved out of my mom's house, years would go by without contact with my father. My anger over my childhood eventually fizzled out and just became a kind of sadness for him, and eventually became a gentle apathy. I no longer wished ill on him, I just didn't care. Things could be great or rough for him. In the end, he was another in a long line of strangers out there.
When we heard he was dying, my brother and I made several trips to see him. He was weak and the cancer was robbing his personality along with everything else. We would just sit and chat. He would call Jennifer "your wife" because he didn't know her name, but he would ask about her, and it seemed like he really wanted to know about who she was. His current congregation loved him, and he always had a room full of flowers and visitors.
When he passed, one at a time, the members of his church stood and told stories about this stranger. They would talk about how he would stop talking mid-sentence and go over to play the organ, and how they loved not knowing what would happen on Sunday mornings. They talked about how he was always at the hospital to visit with them and their families. They talked inviting to their homes after services for dinner, and how he was an engaging delightful guest.
In the end, I think that sums him up pretty well. He really was an engaging delightful guest. I guess in the end, there are a lot worse things you could be.
This morning, here at work, a Ben Folds song came on about a kid that climbed a tree tripping on acid and in the morning he came down a born again Christian. It got me thinking about my dad, and I wondered what he would have seen if he had dosed some blotter and climbed a tree.
I don't know a whole lot else about him or his childhood. I know his father was abusive, and he once told me about catching a beating because he climbed up on their new camper after he was told not to. The fact that they were all playing hide-and-seek and the kids whose parents owned the camper were all hiding on top of it didn't factor in. I know that he was locked in closets as punishment, sometimes for as much as 24 hours. I know his favorite toy (a scooter) was taken away from him each Sunday as his sacrifice for the Sabbath. My mother told me he had a homosexual experience in high school and then again in college, but I have no idea how he figured those actions into his narrow interpretation of religion.
She met him in a church run university where he was the most popular boy in school. Girls flocked to hear him preach, and while he wasn't much of a student in general, his passion for the Word of God carried him through school. My mother dropped out to marry him after he graduated, and they became traveling evangelists until she got pregnant with my brother. They settled down in a small house to focus on building a family, and he took on his first church.
An amazing speaker, my father was really best suited for evangelism. He could sweep into a town, hold a week long revival, get people running the aisles and then head on to the next town. Taking on a church required paperwork, money management, and working with a board of individuals that want to see the corporation of Jesus run in a certain way. This was a challenge for him, and he leaned on my mother to fill in the gaps which she did to the best of her ability.
Still, it would usually just be a handful of years until things would start to go bad. The Church Board would be against him, or circumstance, and then God would call our family to a new city and a new church. So we started a cycle of moving around through Indiana and Ohio, from church to church, holding what I've come to think of as "Extended Revivals".
When it comes to his adult life, I know almost less than I do of his childhood. He left the family when I was ten, so my memories are of a caricature...not a fully formed person. I know that he had affairs. I know he was always seeking out get rich quick schemes, investing money we didn't have into pyramid schemes and roofing businesses. He sold advertising. He sold sleeping bags along road sides. The electricity would get turned off. We ate a lot of fried bread.
He loved to pick up hitchhikers, something that made my mother so uncomfortable she wouldn't talk to him for the rest of the day. He was devoted to his congregation and loved to be a part of that bigger family. He loved to give gifts, and is truly a person that I think liked giving more than receiving.
But in all this, I never saw someone speak the way he did. He would get entire congregations moving.
He would be speaking, preaching, teaching and then the mood would strike him. He would jump from the pulpit and sit behind the organ and start to play and sing, getting the congregation to stand and join him. It wasn't choreographed, it felt organic and natural. A piece of scripture would trigger a song, or vice versa. His sermon notes were just a blueprint, a jumping off place, and he rarely gave the same teaching the same way twice. He had years of notes and sermons, and that was just his own work. He also had hundreds from his father as well and would sometimes pull an old sermon out he remembered from his childhood.
After I moved out of my mom's house, years would go by without contact with my father. My anger over my childhood eventually fizzled out and just became a kind of sadness for him, and eventually became a gentle apathy. I no longer wished ill on him, I just didn't care. Things could be great or rough for him. In the end, he was another in a long line of strangers out there.
When we heard he was dying, my brother and I made several trips to see him. He was weak and the cancer was robbing his personality along with everything else. We would just sit and chat. He would call Jennifer "your wife" because he didn't know her name, but he would ask about her, and it seemed like he really wanted to know about who she was. His current congregation loved him, and he always had a room full of flowers and visitors.
When he passed, one at a time, the members of his church stood and told stories about this stranger. They would talk about how he would stop talking mid-sentence and go over to play the organ, and how they loved not knowing what would happen on Sunday mornings. They talked about how he was always at the hospital to visit with them and their families. They talked inviting to their homes after services for dinner, and how he was an engaging delightful guest.
In the end, I think that sums him up pretty well. He really was an engaging delightful guest. I guess in the end, there are a lot worse things you could be.
This morning, here at work, a Ben Folds song came on about a kid that climbed a tree tripping on acid and in the morning he came down a born again Christian. It got me thinking about my dad, and I wondered what he would have seen if he had dosed some blotter and climbed a tree.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
A Veritable Potpourri of Whatnots
Every morning when I drive to work, and then each evening when I drive home, I look for deer along the edges of yards and in the fields along the highway. While I often see them, I don't know why I spend so much time looking for them in the first place.
---
Most days I will chew an entire pack of Orbit gum at work. It first started because the diet I'm on gives you funny smelling breath. They say it has something to do with being in ketosis. Well, it started with that, but now it's an obsession. Unless I am having the one cup of coffee I allow myself in the morning, I am chewing gum while at work. Rarely do I chew gum at home though.
---
The other day I got home from work and was talking to Jen. I turned to go to upstairs and she called me back. She had noticed that the back of the jeans I was wearing had ripped from the top of the pocket down to the top of my thigh. I had worn the jeans all day at work, but have no idea when or how they ripped. It's possible I spent the entire day at work with my butt hanging out, although everyone denies having noticed. Fortunately, I was rockin' some super swanky boxers.
---
I like being outside on Wednesday's at noon when the city does the Tornado Siren testing each week. I didn't realize that until today, but every time I'm out and about at that time and I hear the whine in the air I like it. Although,I liked the sirens considerably less last year when they went off for real and Jen and I had to hang out in our downstairs bathroom waiting for the funnel clouds to pass.
---
I preordered Wii Fit today. I'm going to get the new Mario Kart soon too. Bask in my geekiness! I SAID BASK!
---
I love tattoos. Well, some tattoos. I've always wanted some ink done, but never had anything in mind that I loved enough to get on my own skin. I see other people's tatts and think that they look cool, but they're never anything I would want on my own skin. A long time ago I read East of Eden and fell in love with the book. It's still my favorite book of all time. In the book, they discuss the word "timshel" which in Hebrew translates to "Thou Mayest". Biblically it refers to free will. The reference is to the passage that says "Thou mayest rule over sin". I love affirmation of free will. You may rule over sin. You may choose not to. You may choose to romp and roll in it. For me, not being a born again (the first time was enough, thanks) gentleman, I just like the idea it conveys about personal choice, and the responsibility that comes with it.
I decided years ago that if I got work done, it would be the original Hebrew characters on one inner arm, and then "timshel" inside the other arm. I always said that I would wait until I dropped some pounds first though. 100 of them to be exact. Well, here I am, realistically within three weeks of hitting that goal and still not sure if I want to do it. I really love tattoos, but again, I really love other people's tattoos. We'll see.
---
Most days I will chew an entire pack of Orbit gum at work. It first started because the diet I'm on gives you funny smelling breath. They say it has something to do with being in ketosis. Well, it started with that, but now it's an obsession. Unless I am having the one cup of coffee I allow myself in the morning, I am chewing gum while at work. Rarely do I chew gum at home though.
---
The other day I got home from work and was talking to Jen. I turned to go to upstairs and she called me back. She had noticed that the back of the jeans I was wearing had ripped from the top of the pocket down to the top of my thigh. I had worn the jeans all day at work, but have no idea when or how they ripped. It's possible I spent the entire day at work with my butt hanging out, although everyone denies having noticed. Fortunately, I was rockin' some super swanky boxers.
---
I like being outside on Wednesday's at noon when the city does the Tornado Siren testing each week. I didn't realize that until today, but every time I'm out and about at that time and I hear the whine in the air I like it. Although,I liked the sirens considerably less last year when they went off for real and Jen and I had to hang out in our downstairs bathroom waiting for the funnel clouds to pass.
---
I preordered Wii Fit today. I'm going to get the new Mario Kart soon too. Bask in my geekiness! I SAID BASK!
---
I love tattoos. Well, some tattoos. I've always wanted some ink done, but never had anything in mind that I loved enough to get on my own skin. I see other people's tatts and think that they look cool, but they're never anything I would want on my own skin. A long time ago I read East of Eden and fell in love with the book. It's still my favorite book of all time. In the book, they discuss the word "timshel" which in Hebrew translates to "Thou Mayest". Biblically it refers to free will. The reference is to the passage that says "Thou mayest rule over sin". I love affirmation of free will. You may rule over sin. You may choose not to. You may choose to romp and roll in it. For me, not being a born again (the first time was enough, thanks) gentleman, I just like the idea it conveys about personal choice, and the responsibility that comes with it.
I decided years ago that if I got work done, it would be the original Hebrew characters on one inner arm, and then "timshel" inside the other arm. I always said that I would wait until I dropped some pounds first though. 100 of them to be exact. Well, here I am, realistically within three weeks of hitting that goal and still not sure if I want to do it. I really love tattoos, but again, I really love other people's tattoos. We'll see.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
No Coffee, Thanks. Please Pass the Downers
Sunday morning I step out on the porch and take a sleepy swipe at the paper and catch it by the end of the platic bag pulling all eight glorious pounds of it into the house. I'm not a huge newspaper guy as a rule, but there is something about Sunday morning a cup of coffee and a dog at your feet that just feels like home. It's a ritual that puts me at ease and while I don't go crazy if I'm too rushed to spend an hour or so flipping through the sections that interest me (Arts, Metro, Travel & the advertisements) it's a good part of my day anytime I can work it in. It relaxes me.
Fortunately, in case I wasn't going to be relaxed enough on my Sunday puttering around the house, the good folks at the Columbus Dispatch teamed up with Advil to help take even more of the edge off my morning.
That's right. Handily included with my morning dose of death, destruction, and half-assed movie reviews were free sedatives. Hot damn! The writing turned poetic. The sidebar detailing tips to stay comfortable, even on the longest of flights, was especially poignant. I giggled through the book reviews and managed a nappy guffaw at Family Circle. The Real Estate section changed my life. Oh, the colors, children!
That's right. I, like many other Central Ohioans, crushed my free Advil PM into dust and snorted it right off the Business section. From that moment on, I knew I would never read the paper any other way.
The rest of the weekend was great, although less chemically enhanced. We bought the new bikes we had our eye on. Jen got to bring her bike home, but they are waiting for mine to come in. Our little bike shop managed to get me the last Raleigh Venture 4.0 available in the manufacturer's warehouse. I can't wait until the great white death outside melts into puddles so I can go racing through them in a cloud of muddy spray.
The last thing of note from this past weekend was the introduction of Christianity into my home from a rather unexpected source. First, some background.
Until my father decided to run through a string of additional wives/pre-built families, he was a minister. In his early years our family was Nazarene, but over time he became less picky and would go to work for any church/denomination that would overlook his checkered past. This is not as rare a thing as you would hope. Anyway, the point is, I was raised in the church until the time I turned eighteen and left home at which time the church and I parted ways. While my father passed a little over a year ago, my mother and sister remain very involved in their respective congregations.
My brother and sister-in-law are looking for answers and seem to have found some with this Christian motivational speaker guy (sorry, forget his name). From what I can gather, the gist of his message is "Ask God for favor, and you'll be amazed at what you will receive". They are way into receiving, not unlike me. We just go about it different ways.
My wife also is looking for answers. She would like to believe in the traditional spiritual avenues the majority of Middle Americans travel, but in the end she just can't bring herself to buy into anything. As a result, she's moved on to philosophies, primarily Buddhism. While she doesn't claim to be a Buddhist, she is learning more and more about it and has started some meditation. It brings her a bit of comfort, and there is no way I would ever do anything to take that away from her. Plus, add the fact that I know very little about it, and I don't have too much to say on the subject.
This weekend Jen brought home a Buddha head just because it looked cool. The Buddha she got was not the happy "Let's have another cheeseburger and get high" Buddha I tend to love, but rather a skinnier more femininely serious version that I'm told leans more to the Thai model.
I like it. A lot. I like it because it doesn't fit in our living room (its new home), it looks aged and cracked, and I know that my father would have hated to see it. You know, false idols and all of that. You see, when I was a kid, the idea that people would even want a Buddha in their home was laughable. Who could believe such horseshit? These people need to smarten up and get down with a believable religion like Christianity. Right.
Well, she brought it home, put it on its shelf and we all loved it. Well, all of us but one.
Otis, my ten pound Silky Terrier, caught the fire of the Lord and rebuked that stone Buddha head all evening long. He would lean forward to sniff at its nose and growl. He would take two steps back and bark at it. When he walked away from it, it was always while throwing nervous glances over his shoulder. We thought he would let it go the following day, but no. He still had things to say to the passive hunk of ceramic.
If you had asked me before this, I would have told you dogs would make great Buddhists. They are all about living in the moment. On the other hand, apathetic agnosticism would probably be the best fit; they don't know and they don't care. What I never would have guessed would be that a dog would display such a visceral reaction to Buddha and it leaves me convinced that my dog is Born Again. So be it. If it brings him peace, who am I to criticize?
Still, I'm more curious than ever about his beliefs. I plan on getting busts of Obama, Freud, Stalin, Woodie Guthrie and George W so I can figure out exactly what I’m up against.
Fortunately, in case I wasn't going to be relaxed enough on my Sunday puttering around the house, the good folks at the Columbus Dispatch teamed up with Advil to help take even more of the edge off my morning.
That's right. Handily included with my morning dose of death, destruction, and half-assed movie reviews were free sedatives. Hot damn! The writing turned poetic. The sidebar detailing tips to stay comfortable, even on the longest of flights, was especially poignant. I giggled through the book reviews and managed a nappy guffaw at Family Circle. The Real Estate section changed my life. Oh, the colors, children!
That's right. I, like many other Central Ohioans, crushed my free Advil PM into dust and snorted it right off the Business section. From that moment on, I knew I would never read the paper any other way.
The rest of the weekend was great, although less chemically enhanced. We bought the new bikes we had our eye on. Jen got to bring her bike home, but they are waiting for mine to come in. Our little bike shop managed to get me the last Raleigh Venture 4.0 available in the manufacturer's warehouse. I can't wait until the great white death outside melts into puddles so I can go racing through them in a cloud of muddy spray.
The last thing of note from this past weekend was the introduction of Christianity into my home from a rather unexpected source. First, some background.
Until my father decided to run through a string of additional wives/pre-built families, he was a minister. In his early years our family was Nazarene, but over time he became less picky and would go to work for any church/denomination that would overlook his checkered past. This is not as rare a thing as you would hope. Anyway, the point is, I was raised in the church until the time I turned eighteen and left home at which time the church and I parted ways. While my father passed a little over a year ago, my mother and sister remain very involved in their respective congregations.
My brother and sister-in-law are looking for answers and seem to have found some with this Christian motivational speaker guy (sorry, forget his name). From what I can gather, the gist of his message is "Ask God for favor, and you'll be amazed at what you will receive". They are way into receiving, not unlike me. We just go about it different ways.
My wife also is looking for answers. She would like to believe in the traditional spiritual avenues the majority of Middle Americans travel, but in the end she just can't bring herself to buy into anything. As a result, she's moved on to philosophies, primarily Buddhism. While she doesn't claim to be a Buddhist, she is learning more and more about it and has started some meditation. It brings her a bit of comfort, and there is no way I would ever do anything to take that away from her. Plus, add the fact that I know very little about it, and I don't have too much to say on the subject.
This weekend Jen brought home a Buddha head just because it looked cool. The Buddha she got was not the happy "Let's have another cheeseburger and get high" Buddha I tend to love, but rather a skinnier more femininely serious version that I'm told leans more to the Thai model.
I like it. A lot. I like it because it doesn't fit in our living room (its new home), it looks aged and cracked, and I know that my father would have hated to see it. You know, false idols and all of that. You see, when I was a kid, the idea that people would even want a Buddha in their home was laughable. Who could believe such horseshit? These people need to smarten up and get down with a believable religion like Christianity. Right.
Well, she brought it home, put it on its shelf and we all loved it. Well, all of us but one.
Otis, my ten pound Silky Terrier, caught the fire of the Lord and rebuked that stone Buddha head all evening long. He would lean forward to sniff at its nose and growl. He would take two steps back and bark at it. When he walked away from it, it was always while throwing nervous glances over his shoulder. We thought he would let it go the following day, but no. He still had things to say to the passive hunk of ceramic.
If you had asked me before this, I would have told you dogs would make great Buddhists. They are all about living in the moment. On the other hand, apathetic agnosticism would probably be the best fit; they don't know and they don't care. What I never would have guessed would be that a dog would display such a visceral reaction to Buddha and it leaves me convinced that my dog is Born Again. So be it. If it brings him peace, who am I to criticize?
Still, I'm more curious than ever about his beliefs. I plan on getting busts of Obama, Freud, Stalin, Woodie Guthrie and George W so I can figure out exactly what I’m up against.
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