Life after death.... myth or fact
great read, Pete, always
and good to see you back here
I penned some thoughts awhile back, in somewhat that regard
and
if anyone reading this suffers from insomnia, well, this may be a cure;
Y’ever try to think back to the beginning of things?
I’ve often tried.
A brain teaser is trying to fathom no beginning of time, or no end to what we know as the universe.
Try as I might, I just get blindly frustrated, and my mind finally goes AAAAARGH…SUH-NAP!
Then I resign myself to the fact that we are just ants, and ants have no idea why they are packing their dead neighbor Fred on their back,
but for the simple reason ‘Fred will make great insulation in my bottom floor condo’.
So as I am stuffing Fred into the corner of my ceiling, joining other deceased neighbors and bits of human bellybutton lint,
I accidently pierce my exoskeleton on a needle I’d packed in from the giant human house w-a-a-a-a-y across the yard, and I begin to seep.
Next day I can’t get up.
Friends gather.
So called friends begin picking at me, and soon I become condo insulation of which my place, which I’d worked so hard on, becomes Fred’s son’s abode.
But I’m not talkin’ about the beginning of time.
Just trying to think back on when I formed my first conscience thoughts.
Where was I…oh, yeah, conscious beginnings.
OK, I got nuthin’.
Maybe it was that first time I discovered playing in the dirt was not so much fun when packin’ a load,
or that time I found out finger nail files and electrical outlets were not really made for each other.
Just can’t nail it down.
However, I have some vivid recollection as to the awakening of Larry.
Mr Winky, as Mom referred to him, became ‘Larry’ sometime in my early childhood.
It could have been that time we were changing at the city pool, when my cousin Johnny and I watched our penises talk to each other.
(shake shake), ‘Hey there (shake shake) got a match?’
‘Hahahahahaha’
(shake shake),’Hey baby, (shake shake) I’ll light yer fire.’
‘Hahahahahaha’
Or the boy’s room sword fights of 4th grade.
But around the fall of ’62 he became Lawrence of Arabia.
Wait a minute.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
The very beginning, before Larry could do more than hang his pathetic little fireman’s hat over the cold porcelain rim,
resting comfortably on his previous pee stain and adult pubic hair leavings, there were a few events that lead to Larry’s awakening.
I recall getting lost under Aunt Helen’s dress.
There was a party.
I was toddling around, mingling with people’s knees, when whoosh, there I was, in a calico tent, looking up.
Garters, snaps, thighs and other mysterious soft forms.
After Aunt Helen’s drink rattling shriek, I recall getting whisked up by Dad, and the brisk paced head bobbin’ scenery shakin’ trip to the play pen in the bedroom.
The whole scene was quite unnerving…..and intriguing.
Then that brief moment I’d wandered into my parent’s bedroom….and the stark lesson that all women would shriek at the drop of a hat….or garment.
Then the Jackie Gleason Show dancers.
Then Bessie Dodge.
Then me and Connie Ekbert in grampa’s tool shed.
The brilliant idea of touching butts together seemed mutual.
Not sure where things woulda gone from there, ‘cause while our hind ends were curiously attached, we heard grampa’s footsteps and got the hell outta there.
Yeah, it coulda been any or all of those events.
But my crotch began to take over every waking moment I had at about the same time the Miss Dickerson fantasies gave way to Sophia Loren,
and my dad’s Police Gazette stash took the place of the Wards catalogue.
Oh those dames in those magazines.
They were in trouble.
They were trouble.
Black rectangle bars covering their eyes, their obviously troubled sultry eyes.
And thank gawd. I’d hate to think they could see me starin’ at their boobs so long.
Greta, on page 27 of issue 351 was my main squeeze.
The barroom was dimly lit. Causing the shadows to plunge deep into her heaving cleavage.
She wanted outta there.
But couldn’t.
Those goddamn eye bars.
So there she was, undulating.
Bosoms poppin’ outta her blouse like two loaves of rising yeast bread.
‘I’m in trouble Gary.’
‘Take me away, you hot young boyman.’
‘Just take me, right here on the bar.’
‘Oh yes. YES. OH YES!’
‘Wait, don’t take me just yet, I heard the front door, your mom is home!’
’What?’
I nestle issue 351 back into my dad’s sock drawer, under his argyle dress socks, between aging issue 117 and the fresh 478 that contained the saga of WWII Pacific Island prison sluts.
‘Hey Mom. What’s for dinner?’
But wait.
I’m getting ahead of myself again.
End of excerpt (due to extremely graphic prose)
Anyway, my thoughts drifted around, considering wizened barroom utterings, but too busy enjoying myself to get serious with, well anything
Until
The birth of my firstborn
A tiny being…..in my care
Not terribly long after, I got serious
Talked to serious people
Some mystics
Some atheists
Some agnostics (I put myself there. Seemed comfortably numb)
Some Christians
Christianity became a feel good story for me, one to keep folks from killing each other
Until
I came in contact with a much learned studier of the Bible
He had the ability to reason
And the patience to put up with my snide remarks
We eventually got into the prophesies, mainly Daniel and The Revelation
There, it was plainly laid out for me
This…was meat for me
Something tangible
Irrefutable completion of prophecies, the foretelling of events coming to fruition centuries after
Huh
God is real
There is life after death
And, if I don’t change my ways, I won’t be part of it
Not because He hates me
But, because I won’t be happy in that world
And here I am
In limbo
Choices
Decisions
Put off
He is, however, working on this ol’ fool
…and it breaks my heart
