“What’s obvious is that you have no understanding of this verse”—Mel Wild
This is the answer I was searching for. All my life I sought for truth, only to have a book secretly placed in my hotel room by an unknown—a Gideon of the gospel to answer life’s riddles. Now my quest—to find meaning outside of myself. Who am I? Where did I come from? Is this life all there is? Where do I go when I die? As an idiot not trained in the correct ways of god, I thought it best to give reading the nod. I had heard so much about “The Good Book” I couldn’t wait to read it, when it mysteriously appeared in the top drawer of my night stand—appearing like a thief in the night.
It was a real page turner as my
mind eyelids raced to keep up. I had always imagined if there was a god he would be really cool, like a good teacher, but it seems I was wrong. Vagued by subtle omission, plagued by violent commission, varied in different renditions, the Bible was a complex, but obvious penning of disturbed control-men with massive egos. The LORD it seemed he was a curse, to opened eyes on every verse, with ramblings of severed foreskins, the fever churned out new revelations to the nature of this paranormal being we strive to emulate. This unseen god commanded authority and men were convinced to do the things his parents would never allow, nor would he do on his own. Mass murders were a way of life, while wives came in scores, but were treated like whores. So I moved on to the Quran.
There was no Muslim book in my extended-stay-express, so I google the book and gave it a test. I called a toll-free and wondered to him, “why no Quran in the nightstand herein,
He gave me an answer, this kind Muslim man, told me of why there was no Quran.
“because guests may take it to the bathroom or other improper place.”
Ah said I, after reading some terse, my thoughts exactly after an hour of verse.
So, Torah and testaments old and the new, Quran and the commentary of some old Jews, stories of Moses who didn’t exist, Noah and Jesus and YHWH’s iron fists, to distance myself from the odd violent word, and all contradictions that flowed so absurd, a snapshot from time of a long distant caste, from authors and prophetic dreams of the past, where violence was king and oppressions reigned true, alone I decided was the path I should choose.
No premixed learning of religious odd ways, no groups on Sundays and limitless praise, no dogmas laundry would I choose to embrace, and rather than sell for integrity lost, I’d call my own shots at no matter the cost.
That verse came in question so plain to be read, but requires a doctorate explanation instead, to offer the grandest of oblique excuse, that not even one such as Satan would use.