Sunday, April 20, 2014

Where The Rivers All Run Dry

Today is Easter Sunday.  It is a day that has little impact upon my day-to-day, having been raised in an Irish Catholic household but having bailed out of that train before it jumped the tracks a long, long time ago.  Much to my mother's chagrin, I have adopted a rather straightforward, simple philosophy with regard to all things spiritual. 

The Lord and I have arrived at an understanding.  I spend no time in his house.  I ask nothing but that he returns the favor.  Countless people worldwide disagree with my theology.  I get it.  Among their number are several members of my family.  I get that too.  It matters not.  To each his or her own.    

I have lived long enough to have seen more than my share of really bad shit happen to really good people - including too many members of my own family and Margaret's family to count.  To me it simply defies reason to place one's faith in any "thing" that repeatedly punches you in the solar plexus and then immediately thereafter appears to be willing to assist you to get the air back into your lungs. I respect your right to believe in whatever myth you choose to.  Countless people do it.  Maybe it is the buzz they catch from the sacramental wine and the little Necco Wafers they are given for snack?  Maybe it is the chance to kneel every now and again on those nice padded kneelers?  Damned if I know.  Damned if I care. 

I ask nothing but that you acknowledge my right to think (from afar and in a manner that does not infringe upon your right to go do the voodoo that you do so well) that you are more than a little nuts for doing so...

...enjoy the Egg Hunt.   

If I should fall from grace with God
Where no doctor can relieve me
If I'm buried 'neath the sod
But the angels won't receive me.

Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry...
- The Pogues


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