TEST CASE

I used to daydream I could astral-project any old time I felt like leaving my body. Of course, when you’re young you never want to leave it and when you’re old you can’t get away from it fast enough. But, in my reverie I would reach greater and greater heights, until I was above the Earth entire; beyond the atmosphere; into the actual timeless spacelessness of the space-time continuum. I would be so far out into the deep dark beyond–light years and many moons away from home–that I would find myself right on the shoulder of God. Yeah, the Man himself. And I became a kind of side-kick. I was God’s kemosabe. His Tonto. And while he’d be out there creating new galaxies and nebulas black holes and stuff, there I’d be, nodding: okay, yes, good; wow, big one, etc. etc. Ya know, like a good side-kick does. Supportive and all. Agreeable, mostly.

And when me and God were hangin’ out, so to speak, I’d never be so gauche as to inquire “what about the holocaust… what was that about?” or ask Him “why do you do these tsunami things and all… are you fucked-up or what?” No, I’d just be a good silent un-opinioned side-kick. An observer, for the most part, quiet, non-interfering. I figured in enough time I’d catch on to the rhyme or reason behind creating an intelligent species… just so’s He could drag them over the coals. Hanging out with the Dude didn’t give me a clue as to His motives.

Ultimately, I decided there are certain intelligences that are beyond my meager, insufficient (human) brain to comprehend. Like, there is some exuberant enlightenment in pain and suffering; loving and losing; seeing so many things and doing without them–the tiny foibles like hunger and disease… all that good stuff­–but I just can’t understand it. Sado-masochism is something in God’s realm exclusively. Only He can dig that junk. Okay, okay. I can accept that. Get thee to a Buddhistry.

Without getting too lofty, I figure it’s best to leave God to those who believe in it. I’m much more concerned with plain old basic human morality and fair play. There’s enough issue with that subject to go around the globe twelve times. If we feel compelled to exceed our own mindset-intelligence paradigm for answers, the human heart is as far as we need go. But, we do have to shut out many distractions to get there.

    craig rory lombardi, "the Bronx Bloomers"

    Written by

    Born NYC. Snake hips chicken lips and other flights of fanciful whimsy. Musician, Renaissance Mo-Fo, Beatnik, Philosopher, Feminist. “Make America hate again!”