The Path of I DUNNO.

Well, it’s probably no big surprise to anyone who would read these thoughts that the thinker of them has pretty much always been, and to this day remains a sort of accidental agnostic.  Despite years of catechism and confirmation training in the Catholic church (years which I feel were well-spent, although not inasmuch as it turned me into a person of great faith), and despite many many years of personal prayer and reflection, fpr me there simply is no other path but the path of I DUNNO.

My mother always quietly wonders to herself what it would take to shake me out of this nonsense.  I can’t answer that, because I’ve had epiphanic experiences before; I’ve already had astounding insights into the nature of all things.  Some of these things were religious in nature, but most were not: in the end, they sort of all blend together, and serve only to heighten the mystery and grandeur of the world. (And make no mistake, the world is grand, even sitting here in my den with America’s Next Top Model droning in the background:  there is a thing which permeates even the most mundane experiences: is that God?  I rather think not.  Maybe it’s God’s afterglow, some Most Glorious Vapour left in His wake, after He got the universe in gear, observed coolly for a few epochs of time, and then left us to our own decisions. That is the sort of God I always imagine, right or wrong.

But anyway, I started reading a bit of Jefferson’s Bible the other day, and so far have found it to be a very good retelling of the Gospels from one of the true Great Men of Antiquity. My first thought after reading the first chapter, when Mary and Joseph come to Bethlehem to pay taxes (leaving out whole swaths of apochryphal detail, such as the dramatic Annunciation of Gabriel and the miraculous transmission of the Star of David) and to attend to the practical details of the birth of their son, was to think, “Good grief, and I thought I was irreverent, TJ must have the world’s biggest gonads to have written this thing!”  Then I found that he had compiled for his own personal use, and it was not published until after his death, and things started making more sense.  Jefferson displays a sort of intellectual rigor at which a modern man can only marvel:  he compiled this text from many different versions of the Bible, in four different languages, until he got the version he liked best.  The end result is a retelling of Jesus’ life as it would have read if he were simply a protohistorical version of Mohandas Ghandi: virtuous, admirable, intellectual, and at last only human.  However, to my mind the “only human” part is the understatement of the century; I can say with fair certainty that I have personally never met a human like Jesus (or Ghandhi for that matter).

Anyway, it’s a little known book but worth the reading.

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March 2009
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Currently Reading:

Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame - Charles Bukowski

Currently Listening:

Mr. Bungle - California

Why, yes, I am cool as a cucumber in a bowl of hot sauce.

You lika de juice????

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