Yeah, you know the date today already and I’m sure you’ve read about how it’s lucky in Japan, unlucky in China, how it’s the devil on his head and all that, but I don’t ascribe to numbers even though 9 was my lucky number growing up because it was my baseball number and because I thought it was a cool number to have as a lucky number, truthfully nothing lucky ever happened to me with the number 9, so I won’t belabor this whole 9-9-9 thing any longer.
I woke up a minute before my alarm clock went off. I hate when that happens because it feels like you got robbed somehow of a minute of sleep. Oh well, I only need 6 hours of sleep anyway. Some people say, insist, they need 8, 9, 10 hours of sleep. It’s a boring conversation so I won’t go on, even more boring than hearing about people’s “wacky” dreams. I don’t really dream, except when driving over the hill into the valley, so I’m lucky, I guess, not to bore people with tales of how I was in a hot air balloon but it suddenly became a submarine and there was a girl I liked on board but when I went to kiss her she turned into a sea monster and then without cause we both were sitting in class naked but were giant lollipops instead of mere human and sea monster. Yeah, lame.
After years of hardline Atheism I’ve finally come to accept God… as a metaphor. There is a God inside me and it’s me. Yeah, ‘I’m spiritual but not religious’ is a common refrain these days but what does it really mean. Is there anyone who will proudly claim to be a materialist? We all think there is something under the surface brewing that causes this magical experience called life, just most of the intelligent people don’t claim to know what that thing is, and especially don’t think it’s Him.
I’m Buddhist, but that doesn’t mean I believe Buddha levitated or turned water into wine. I’m not sure Buddha existed, and it really doesn’t matter. Sometimes when I’m meditating I picture the seasons happening in my chest. When I breath in it’s the hot air of summer filling my lungs, when I breathe out winter escapes in my exhales.
FDR was a Buddhist when he said, “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”
When I’m jogging and I feel my heart drumming wildly like Jon Bonham and sweat is pouring down my chest like the mighty, mighty Mississippi my thoughts work in meditative patterns. I wrote this entire blog in my head, or rather it wrote itself while I was busy watching the intersections for cars and admiring the hydrangeas in front yards.
I hopped over a curb and thought, ‘wouldn’t it be nice to be a bird and alight from tops of trees in programmed cohesion with my flock.’
If I wasn’t Buddhist I would be a pagan. People think that’s weird but I just think of paganism as a religion with a bunch of middle managers, help spread the responsibility around.
One day every religion will by a myth. All of us will be dead ancestors. It’s nothing to get sad about, or to fear. It’s something to get up and dance over, to toast your friends and loved-ones now, and say, “blessed are those who live for tonight, for we are the party-makers.’
Happy Devil On His Head Day, y’all.