Our Father, Who Art Where?

We have been searching for God for quite sometime now. Some in temples, some in mosques, some in churches, each in their own chosen place of worship. And somewhere during this search, we forgot what we were actually looking for. We got confused between the object of worship, vs. the symbol of worship. Between our faith, and the entities representing the faith. Ironically, religion started drifting farther and farther away from God.

And this is when the politicians came in. They knew our confusion, our weakness, our ignorance. And they played us. Against each other. Each with their own agendas. Each eager to cook their broth on our funeral pyres. The more we burn, the more they gain. And as for God, He was as usual relegated to being nothing more than an archaeological entity.

And this is what surprises me. The fact that we still find it hard to wake up from this hypnosis. That if after all these years, we have actually not been able to find God in temples and mosques and churches and so on, then maybe, just MAYBE, we are looking in the wrong places? And that if we continue to look in these artificial representations of faith, then that’s exactly what we will get back in return – artificial Gods, inciting us to an artificial faith, inviting us to an artificial belief-system, fucking with our minds, and in the process, fucking with our entire entity. And we allow this to happen, maybe because we enjoy it.

Can we actually stop the charade, and for once, look beyond brick and mortar for the final answer? And show ourselves that we are more than mere puppets in the system? And convince ourselves that we can think beyond the cleverly crafted definitions of religion?

Roadkill

I read about it this morning -

“A drunk 30-year old hits (and kills) one on Marine Drive”. And I thought, not again…

Actually, he killed more than one. The aunt of the unfortunate deceased also mortally succumbed to the shock of the news. The father of the culprit probably can’t believe this is the kind of son he had raised. Though of course he will throw a minor percentage of his net worth and get his son out in no time. The incident will be relegated to the pages of scrap newspaper, and we, who have no choice, will move on.

But I am equally sorry for someone else. She is quite young, and is therefore blissfully unaware that she is actually the cause of all this. The 2 month old daughter of the drunken monkey. They were celebrating her birth when everybody got high, and our man got so high, he ended up believing he was flying a Cessna along the muddy coastline.

They will keep this news from her for as long as they can. They will hide it behind wads of cash, cover it up with Barbie-themed lies which will fill up her room till the cows come home. You know, money does cover up a lot of scars and shortcomings. But someday somebody will tell her. That her birth led to a few families being ruined, apparently because her stupid-ass father couldn’t hold his joy. Love can kill, really.

And from then on, in spite of her silver-spooned life, every time she blows those birthday candles out, there will be a tinge of sorrow as she remembers the lights that went out that night (assuming her IQ is somewhat higher than Barbie’s). She wouldn’t know whether to thank her father for that year’s huge birthday gift, or search for some shade of remorse in his eyes. Maybe her best gift would be if daddy dear quits drinking. Or at least quits flying after drinking.

We know that this won’t bring anybody back to life. Nothing does. But at least a faint satisfaction that for some time to come, this family’s celebrations won’t lead to a few funerals the next day. Until of course, she grows up and her doting father gifts her a Merc, a pink cellphone and a bottle of p.i.n.k vodka. History will probably repeat itself then. But until then, have a safe night…

All in good time…

You might find the reasons,

Why God was placing dice

Or who you thought were real friends,

Were just brilliant actors at playing nice

 

You might run into that old friend again,

On the other side of a man-made line

You might find that love was actually never lost,

But all, in good time

 

You might reach, the moon someday

Or perhaps realize, that it’s too far away

Whatever path, you end up taking

You will travel, to the same cross one day

 

You might hit, the very same blocks

Even with enough bread, women or wine

And you might be pleased, to see the light

But all, in good time

 

You might double, your salary overnight

And haughtily surpass, even your best friends

Until you find, you will have to leave it behind

That one fine day, your time ends

 

You might win, more than you lose

And one warm summer, you will probably shine

And you will live, to cherish and savour,

This all, in good time

 

The fair of life, may appear unfair

Until the tides appear to turn

And the reality of dreams can be seen,

When the veil begins to burn

 

So far, so good, and thus it goes

Between the start and finishing line

Crests and troughs, you touch each of them,

Though all, only in good time