CHAPT9

~Chapter Eight~

DAYS LIKE THESE---

"Lefts and rights of passage, blacks and whites of youth. Can we face the knowledge that the truth is not the truth?"

---Neal Peart

The elder's face projected smug confidence. Within five minutes, he owned the pulpit. This guy was good. While the congregation saw him as some kind of conduit to the lord, I knew he was new blood. Just another guest speaker from another church. I almost felt sorry for him when I got ready with my questions. Maybe he'd fare better than those before him. Then he started talking about that old scourge, Satan. My pity for this man then dissolved, which left anger. I was ready for a fight. I felt sort of like that David guy, only with a cooler sling shot in the form of my questions. I became aware of Mom's grip on my shoulder, but it would take a little more than that to stop me.

"I'm sorry to have to say this, but without a devil, there'd be no use for a god. If there wasn't a devil, then who would we have to blame for our sins?" I noticed that a vein started bulging out of his forehead, and he paused to sip from his water glass. Had someone warned him about me? I was probably just deluding myself. But even if somehow, my reputation had preceded me, I was only more emboldened.

The guest elder was trying his best to avoid the question hurled at him by this would be giant killer. Mom's grip on my shoulder tightened. Maybe she'd reel me in, he might have thought. Maybe she'd keep a muzzle on this big mouthed little kid. Kid or not, I didn't suppose he'd ever been asked such a thing, but the query made perfect sense to me. I was surprised no one else had asked it before. The pity for him started coming back. But whatever pity I may have felt for this man, quickly vanished again with his patent response of, "There's some things that we're not meant to understand. We must have faith in our lord."

The vicarious enjoyment I felt by making people squirm was an early indication of my intolerance for the orthodox. Previously tentative feelings became those of somber conviction, as my resolve to understand increased. I no longer wished to believe in a god that was capable of showing such indifference to his subjects. Even his most loyal and dedicated servants were subject to various psychological and physical tortures, with the objective being a test of their faith. If this god knew everything, then a person's faith would not be at issue. God would just know it to be true. There was a word that seemed to best describe god. I heard Mom mention it once, after one of her and Dad's arguments. Oh yeah, "asshole."

And the free will thing? C'mon, the idea of being free enough to choose a path, and then to be punished if it's the wrong one? That felt ridiculous to me. Adam and Eve, Pandora, and Lucifer himself had it made. They had all they'd ever need, enough to last for a lifetime, and an eternal one at that. It was pure bliss for them, and things couldn't have been better. No death, disease, not so much as a hang nail we're told. Still, something was lacking from their lives apparently, given their infamous reactions against all this "freedom."

Things came too easy, and there were no challenges. There was no opportunity for growth in these so-called paradises. And as every thinking creature will tell you, without struggle comes stagnation. Without pain, pleasure is dulled. Without utter darkness, then the rapture offered by the light is dimmer. Religions in the east knew this well, taking into account for instance, the yin and the yang. The positives and negatives compliment each other well. A true balance can only be struck when the duality contained in everything is acknowledged.

There's your free will. Choosing not between one thing or another, but surrendering yourself to both. Even better, all of the possibilities yet unimagined could be incorporated into your life as well. Acknowledging such a balance can lead you to the truth. I wish my inner voice could have a pulpit...

Recognize and embrace the incredible strength of nature, and allow yourself to be consumed by it. Only then can you come to truly know it, and become a part of it. You must become a part of it consciously, and not block it out as we're taught to do here in the west. The current condition of our world bears witness to a truth that we've made for ourselves. That truth pits us against nature's will, which isn't good. How dare we presume upon it, and force on it what we deem fit?

Once having given up on religion, I finally accepted that if answers were to come at all, then I'd have to take it upon
myself to find them. That's exactly why I'm putting myself through all of this now. That, and not having much of a life to speak of. But how can someone forever questioning life, ever find something to believe in? What solace is there for those of us who are always left wanting more?

To me it seemed, there were an unacceptable number of vagaries and loopholes in the conventional wisdom churned out by the elders. Not the least of which was how a perfect god could be capable of creating an imperfect devil in the first place. Not to worry though, because if we just make the pre-ordained choice put forth by god to just play along, things will be fine and dandy.

If God was such a forgiving soul, then why the need for a hell to throw all the sinners? Everything cited in the bible is rigged for sure fire failure, if taken literally. Many religious people seem quite comfortable in regarding their spoonful of dogma as literal truth. Not everyone, thank goodness, is so easily led. Lucifer had taken his god given right to decide for himself what was best. For that, he was branded an outcast. Hell, he WAS outcast.

In Milton's epic, "Paradise lost," the fallen angel hissed that it was "better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven." I couldn't help but relate to this defiant proclamation, and wondered if other misfits felt the same sting of alienation.

I felt an undeniable sense of delicious satisfaction in thinking that maybe I too preferred to live life my own way. This satisfied me, until I wondered if Lucifer was less like a bold and free spirit, and more like Aesop's fox who was deprived of the grapes he failed to nab. Maybe it's a case of sour grapes for me when I choose to think: I may not have a job, a car, a house, or a woman, but at least I still have my wits.

So far, I've remained free of the rules and regulations that most people let rule their lives. But keeping your mind free of restraints had its price. I've also remained free of cash. I have nobody to answer to but myself, just like that embittered fox. Could it be that I, like him, thought the fruits made available to anyone accepting a lifetime of servitude to a single idea or vision were probably sour anyway? Or was this just a way for me to accept the harsher reality that I am only envious of all the others who could be seen prospering all around? Maybe I've missed something in my first 8 or 10 runs through biblical text. Could it be worth another try?

What about the tower of Babel story? It proves to be yet another example of the almost gratuitous vindictiveness of god. How could he be so petty as to destroy cities, simply because of its citizens worshiping something besides him? Well, in the case of Babel he just struck its builders dumb by making them unable to speak anything but gibberish (hence, babbling). Their ability to communicate with each other was destroyed. Their goal to create a structure which would ascend to god's domain, heaven, was thwarted thustly. That's how we came to have so many different tongues today.

Apparently it had nothing to do with humans evolving (there's that heretical word again) in various regions of the world. In their own pockets of the world, they'd been creating separate languages and cultures through independent growth.

But what if the biblical story is true? I wondered why people didn't start braying incoherently as they polished off the top floor of the empire state building, for example. Surely, this was an achievement of human engineering that dwarfs any Babylonian effort made thousands of years ago. Theologians would answer that by saying something like, "since the goal of building skyscrapers wasn't to reach god, then no real sin had been committed."

Once more, it comes down to this...Skipitty doo-doo.

Compared to the threats facing us today, religious doctrine can give little comfort, at least to the more inquisitive among us. While it claims to have all the answers to what ails us, most of its content is hopelessly archaic. Add to this the unfortunate habit people have of ignoring any potential threats not specifically mentioned in theological testimony, and the problem becomes even more pronounced. All they had to worry them back then was flooding, disease, and those pesky locusts, among other things. It was nothing like it is today.

Now we live in the thermonuclear age. The fundamental argument on this particular topic, nuclear war, is that even if we were to launch ourselves into some global last hurrah, god would step in at the eleventh hour and save us from ourselves. Since there's no mention of a specific threat in biblical text, then it's not seen as a threat. Some people believe that even if missels WERE launched, god wouldn't allow them to reach their targets on the ground. No doubt, this giant hand would come down, scoop up the airborn warheads, and tuck them neatly back into their silos.

The Greeks had this same idea, but they regarded it only as a convenient plot contrivance in their plays. Greek tragedies often took humanity to the brink in many a dramatic epic, but any problems were cut short as their "Des Ex Machina" (literally meaning the machine of god) would magically descend, and at the last minute --- save the day. Today, similar disasters might be averted by either god or Superman. It would be a real shame if it should turn out both are doing laundry that day. What we require, just in case neither are available in our own hour of need, is something else. Something more reliable.

I have to admit that all this bible bashing isn't entirely fair. So, and in the bible's defense, there were the teachings of Christ. Never before had there come such a man as he to deliver salvation. Or had there? Once again, there were the Greeks. They too had their own version of a Messiah. Hercules was seen as a champion for humanity and goodness. He too was part god and part mortal. He was always torn between his Olympian family, and those humans he'd come to know and love here on Earth.

But let's get back to Jesus. It's understandable how a man like him could have been mistaken for the son of a god, for only such a man could have spoken words so divine and true. Ideas like loving your enemy were, at the very least, ahead of their time. Even though eastern teachings preaching similar tidings had come 1000 years earlier, Christ is considered to be redemption incarnate here in the west.

Interesting how militaristic individuals recently have cited Christ as their role model. And yet it's hard to picture Jesus carpet bombing Baghdad . Loving your enemy must be a message lost on those who are, or who will be engaged in such atrocities. Their argument is, that only through war, can their ever be peace. I've always had trouble dealing with that one. How about getting rid of the war part, and just go for the peace?

In a world so rife with aggression, and with the domination of the weaker-minded, how many of us have yet to heed that form of wisdom, one of peace? If men like Jesus were alive today, they'd probably be liberals, if not out and out progressives. But as is so often true, such men's words can, and often have been twisted into whatever meaning best serves those who have their own agendas.

Given the many contradictions written into most religions, there is always room for misinterpretation.

The words "an eye for an eye" spring to mind, but these weren't spoken by Christ, who urged us to always "turn the other cheek." He also said "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." I'm sure what he meant by this was that you should treat others as you'd like to be treated yourself. Others, the power brokers, prefer to adopt the philosophy of the right to seek vengeance, as sited in that very same bible. To them, an eye for an eye is sanctified by the text offered in the old testament.

According to god, we all have the right to get back at those who have wronged us, or who would wish us harm.

It's safe to guess that more often than not, those in power only pretend to be religious. Religion is very often a good foundation on which to get away with murder. As long as those who follow them blindly are led to believe the false morality of their leaders is genuine, no one's the wiser.

But even if a person's religious aims are legitimate, issues like these have been run through the mill for so long now, that the words have been fragmented into the many forms of Christianity we see today. This same kind of fragmentation can be observed in most of the other world religions too. What good can any of them be if they can't even agree among themselves?

It's now become a world of us against everyone else, me against you, or my God can beat up your god. In so many ways, selfishness is wrong. But then you're let off the hook when you read the words, "To thine own self be true," or, "God helps those who help themselves." This indicates that if we're to survive at all, then it may well be entirely up to us alone. Maybe we shouldn't count on any help coming from the great beyond.

Once, I had on my refrigerator door a sticker that read:

"There are three kinds of people in the world. Those who watch things happen, those who make things happen, and the vast majority who have no idea of what happens."

I wondered how many of us would consider ourselves either number one or two on that list. How many of us would in fact, come in third? Go outside and look around. Where did all those buildings and skyscrapers come from? If you don't live in the city, look at the V.C.R. you bought. Try to ignore the forever blinking "12:00" display for just a moment, and ask yourself who designed it. Most of the stuff we have gracing our living rooms, was thought of or was built by someone else. That's nothing to be too ashamed of as a modern consumer. I should add that I'm just as clueless in many ways, as anyone else.

If I were captured by the space monkeys for instance (maybe I should offer them my home address), how would I account for the others of my species? If they were to ask how we created such tall buildings for example, what account would I offer them?

"Uhhh, the Sears tower? Hmmm, let me see here. Well the workers all got together and started putting up these erector set thingamajigs. And then they sat around a lot, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, constantly pulling their pants up, whistling at pretty girls, you know, that sort of thing. Anyway, a few months later (or was it years?) there was this really tall building standing there. Yeah, I think that about covers it!"

That refrigerator sticker suddenly becomes an insult to
me. "The vast majority who has no idea what happens?" O.K., so I'm a moron. How is it that so many people have become so absolutely uninformed? If any better world is to come, we're going to need to be smarter about the ways of the world. If that's true, then we're so screwed.

Speaking of screwed, every time I hear the word "moron," I start thinking of my days in church again. Don't worry, I think I'm done ranting now about my disappointments there. It's just that there was this Mormon girl I think about from time to time. I must confess a major weakness before we move on.

Part of my need to discuss this particular weakness of mine, comes from my insistence on being completely honest. For one thing, I'd like to demonstrate that I have nothing to hide. For another, I'd be remiss if I didn't at some time mention my attitude toward sexuality. In Sunday school, I could add one more sin to my down payment toward my bachelor pad in hell. You see, there was this girl...

This Mormon girl represented one of the few good things that came from my years in the church. It was her that brought to life a passion that hasn't wavered since. I'd spent many summer days with this girl. She liked my pet turtles, my knowledge of dinosaurs, and my endless rantings about this or that. In child terms, she was every bit, my soulmate. She gave me a confidence I'd never known before. I had to respect anyone who could keep up with my racing mind. That all changed around puberty though. She changed into someone else. Someone who had breasts. And they were HUGE! With that, my nerves were shot, and my confidence was shattered where females were concerned.

My fixation on breast size is thankfully, not as prominent, now that I'm getting older. But regardless of age, one of the side-effects of being manic along with the euphoria it causes, is a state of general arousal. By the way, this comes more as a way of giving you some background on me, than it does as a way to repulse you.

It will also, I hope, explain how I got to be who appears in word before you now.

It's sort of embarrassing to admit that, while I might have all of these intensely controversial ideas and grandiose dreams rattling around in my brain, there's always going to be some space reserved for a thing so petty as large breasts. Must be that reptile brain thing we talked about earlier. On second thought, it's hard to think of a crocodile ignoring all those wildabeest gathered around a watering hole, and instead ---- looking for the perfect pair of boobs to drag into the water with it.

I try to hide it, but my fascination with boobs has a life of its own sometimes. I'm a male. Forgive me if you can, but it's true. All men are no more than glorified sex- beasts to one degree or another, and there are times when that's all we care about. Some of us are better equipped to deny this fact than others, but we all have the same predisposition to arousal. Since we men are generally more visual than women, we usually act accordingly.

There are some men who like a good leg, a nice tush, or a certain hair color. They like them tall, or diminutive, or domineering. There are those who like hearty girls or frail ones, innocent or raunchy. We look for the ones with big bones or little, or those that are perky and naive, or who are strong and silent. As for me? Sure, why not? But none of these qualities really matter, so long as the woman is well, how can I say it? In a word, stacked. I can't seem to be able to shake it, this deep longing to find myself smothered in a swelling bosom. Maybe I'll grow out of it in another 30 years or so. Perhaps by then, my mind will be consumed by finding a girl with suitable wrinkles, in addition to her adorable bout with severe dementia.

Until then, because of this obsession of mine, the people who know me are always expecting me to simply abandon the idea of a perfect "cyber-woman" (which means that such a woman cannot exist in the real world). They feel that as an older man with no real job, and with no real intention of growing up, I should face the facts. When their tolerance for listening to my latest jaunt to the local strip club, where I had just seen a "Traci Topps," or a "Stacey Stacks," or an "Alyssa Alps" perform, I'm sorry... where was I again? Seems people get tired of this breast obsession I have after a while. They must be sick of hearing me go on and on about such women. I can't say I blame them.

They suggest I lower my standards at least enough to be able to date "normal" women. In deference to my well-meaning friends and family, I sometimes wonder how many potentially rewarding relations are being passed up, as I pine away for someone who might not even exist. What if love is right in front of me? Upon deeper reflection however, I realize that my impossible standard is nothing more than a way of keeping myself from being hurt again.

Don't worry. I'm going to be getting back to more meaningful pursuits shortly. First though, here's some more background info which will probably be coming back into play later on, and in a greater overall context. If you want, just look at this as the part of the book where not a lot of thought is required. Consider this an intermission, lewd, shrewd, and crude though some of it may be.

This breast fetish of mine was firmly entrenched into my psyche now. It came long before I had the chance to shed that most cumbersome of burdens for any male animal, the big "V." That's for virginity by the way. I was around nine when I first began to associate the burning in the groin with a female chest. It hit me like a bolt, becoming very much a life altering moment. If you're a girl, sorry, but you have no idea what we're dealing with here. That's not to say women don't wrestle with equally irritating dilemmas of course. All we're talking about here, is those moments in life when something happens to us which alters our path in life.

The Greeks called such a moment "metanoia," or change of mind and thought. In some manner, we've all felt this moment in life. Born agains have when they can say with self-righteous vindication that, "At ten thirty three a.m., on September 28th, l986--- Jesus came into my heart!" God, I hate those people. Ok, hate's a strong word. But I sure wouldn't be inclined to have them over for gourmet pop corn.

It's of personal comfort to me to know that Jesus needn't come in to your heart for you to feel a similar crystallization of consciousness. Anybody who has looked at the mountains, the oceans, or the stars, and were filled with wonder--- these people have felt such a moment. These are the kinds of mystical moments where time stood still, and your senses came alive for the first time. It's what makes inventors, scientists, or artists raise their heads and shout "Eureka!" The man who coined that particular phrase, Archimedes, must have had a life time of such moments. One of my first eureka moments was when I discovered a freakishly full bust line.

How can these kinds of moments possibly be compared to a tingling in the groin? They can't of course, unless you were a little boy who had just re-discovered a part of himself that had formerly been nothing more than something to be aimed correctly at the toilet. And sexual thoughts aside for a moment, I've been fortunate to have felt it many times, and suspect that I'll continue to feel it---that perfect moment of metanoia.

In a desperate attempt to reclaim some dignity, I feel it every time I find something new or strange (a quest for increased knowledge and experience is sure to keep the inspiration going), and then make it my own. It's exciting whenever further growth is achieved. But in terms of how I personally perceive truths, I can't truly say that anything inspired me more than when I first became aware of breasts. So much for dignity.

Up to that point anyway, and in that context, my first love (this word is sometimes interchangeable with lust to some men) was a woman named Ingrid Pitt. She was a well-endowed British actress who just happened to be playing a lesbian vampire when I saw her on a late night horror flick.

When I first laid eyes on her, something remarkable happened (as far as I was concerned). As impressive as her fangs were, my eyeballs sprang from their sockets when I beheld the splendor of her expansive bust line. The blood (looking suspiciously like ketchup) that spilled from her mouth served well to trace the voluptuousness of her gorgeous curves. For me at least, that was that. I couldn't wait to get old enough to take a job at the local ketchup packing plant either, let me tell you.

I'd been indelibly cursed on that night. I might as well have been bitten by a vampire, for her mark would remain on me for the rest of my life. In the years that followed, the feelings left were only intensified. I'm always on the lookout for my own Ingrid Pitt (although I'd be willing to lose the fangs and the blood). Only rarely have I found this elusive brand of woman, bearing in mind that my base of operations is right here in the state of Iowa. Not that the right woman doesn't exist here, but she has to be just right, otherwise I'm wasting precious time. I can't help but think of Achilles as I realize everyone has a weakness.

Of course this admittedly infantile attitude of mine doesn't factor in the possibility of actually discovering love. I've yet to experience that in my life. In point of fact, I don't really believe it exists. Not for me anyway. But, in the spirit of these writings and the will to accept change, who knows what a person can come to feel once they go down the road a ways. Besides, as I get older, it's not very realistic to keep looking for the buxom nymphs that have been dancing in my head since adolescence.

As the years pass, I have to accept that any woman I meet will probably have kids. I suspect that kids would be too much competition for me. Naturally I would always come in at best, only second place to the kids. I've been involved with the mother of children before. As much as I respect a woman's maternal instincts and her potential for unconditional love, I couldn't get passed the baggage. Besides, with children factored in, it ruins the fantasy element so vital to an immature idiot like me.

As much as my weakness pains me, it could be worse I suppose. At least I'm not like the rogue lion male, who in order to get his chosen mate to go in estrous, will occasionally eat her cubs, and thereby end her need to nurse. Fortunately, things change. I'm hoping that will include me someday.

Since I'm so far, not yet willing to eat little children, there's no denying how they serve as a stark reminder that this woman has had sex with someone before she met me. Immaculate conception aside, this pretty much threw the untouched virgin fantasy out the fallopian tubes. Not to mention the fact that in any relationship I might have, I wanna be the child. How can I be expected to compete with the real thing?

Mercifully, there came a girl into my life. She had 2 children, and somehow, I refrained from devouring them. I'd pretty much become a vegetarian by then as well.

When she eventually moved out of state, I handled it fine. I missed her, but for the first time in my life, I wasn't devastated. Of course, it helped that there was no sense of failure connected with her, save my failure to keep in touch for very long after that. What's the point in talking long distance night after night, when all you want to do is be with her? Despite not seeing her again, I felt more strong and self-assured than ever before. For the first time in my life, the little boy in me stepped aside for a time, and I looked at a man in the mirror, or a reasonable facsimile anyway. I'd finally learned how to cherish, without becoming vulnerable and weak. Those days are a hard act to follow.

People tell me that my focus on physical wants versus emotional ones will pass when "the right woman" comes along. I find that unlikely, because I've never really believed that one person can give another everything at once. Men especially, are always looking beyond the horizon for other adventures, even if they never act on this impulse of male biology. They can control this wanderlust of course, but nature's will can't be refuted entirely. This isn't a convenient excuse for male infidelity, so much as a tip of the hat to a male's natural inclination to spread his seed.

If I were to place a bet, I'd say that god never intended for men and women to get together at all, much less, stay together forever. But again, I tend to view love and lust as two separate traits. Like with playing the lotto, finding the two things combined are a long shot at best.

But, if I should ever come to love a woman, I suspect it would have to be because of her intellect or her graciousness. I mention graciousness, because it would take quite a person to learn to live with my illness. If someone does someday manage such a feat, it would then be hard for me to look at her as an object of desire. I wouldn't want to taint such an image with the basal and degrading act of intercourse. Not an entirely bad thing incidentally, but it mars the initial vision of wholeness and purity of spirit.

Conversely, if I'm immediately attracted to a woman for (you know, the breast thing), then it's all I can do to pretend that sex is the last thing on my mind. With women not being nearly so stupid as they sometimes pretend, they can usually see right through my pretense, and they send me on my way.

That's part of what happens when you live your life in black and white (it's another side-effect of being bipolar). If I become a friend to a woman, there's little room for sexual thoughts in my head. I respect her too much, unless I'm attracted to her sexually. Then, friendship comes dead last on my priority list. An unseemly balding guy on a popular sit-com put it best: "If only I could treat the women I like, the way I treat the women I don't." So what are guys like me looking for, love or sexual intimacy? The older I get, the more confusing such questions become.

Breasts are so much easier to think about. To this day I'm slightly ashamed of this all-consuming preoccupation I have. Especially in that this absolute fixation is based on something so inconsequential as female mammary glands. As usual, whenever I fail to understand something, I try to examine the problem from the scientific side. Maybe I figure that if my deepest craving can be reduced to something purely empirical, then I have a chance of conquering it. Besides, they're only little more than modified sweat glands. They're a part of a woman's endocrine system. And on a strictly utilitarian level, they're what puts the "mam" in mammal.

All mammals have breasts of sorts. Even whales and elephants have teats with which to nurse their young. Granted, most of the other mammals have more than just two, but the function is the same. Alas, along with the aforementioned whales and the elephants, we primates possess only two such glands.

Actually, they look so much better in single pairs. It's less distracting that way I suppose. Still, why this hang up? It wasn't just the nipples. I have those. I couldn't put my finger on it, which of course, has always been a part of the problem. In time, things could change. Best to move on to a topic that lends itself to something more inspirational. There's so much more to think about now that I've decided to have this heart to heart with myself.

Yes, moving on now. I can barely contain my excitement as the worlds I'd like to discuss come rushing back into my mind. What a life I could have. Eating meat again, because of cloning techniques which would render the slaughter of whole animals obsolete. Wondering what it will be like to see Earth from orbit, once space travel becomes a commercial enterprise. Imagining the day when I can learn to breathe liquid again, so I can go look at that condo I had my eye on, that's awaiting me on the ocean floor. I wonder when science could bring cancer down, once the drug companies let up on their choke hold a little. The future's calling me.

I wonder when Wendy Whopper's due to dance at the local gentlemen's entertainment club again?