Monday, September 11, 2006

9/11, Jesus the scene-stealer, and losing god(s)

I started this entry on 9/8, and although I’ve flogged myself for being a bad blogger and not posting, I suppose it’s fitting that it be published on 9/11 as people remember that day that took, and changed, so many American lives. Mine was but one of them, and for me that tragic day ties in with another, of which PZ reminded me.

Steve Irwin’s death is a tragic loss to his family and all the good work he’s done for the natural world.  My heart goes out to his loved ones, and the man has my respect for sharing his knowledge in such a way as to engage the interest of those who might not otherwise learn about some of the “monsters” we share the planet with.

So, in my blog-wandering, I came across PZ’s post, “Ken Ham spits on Steve Irwin’s Corpse”, wherein he describes what it’s like to attend a loved one’s “memorial” and… well, I’ll let him tell it:

My baby sister (she was in her thirties and had two kids of her own, but she’ll always be my little sis) died a few years ago of one of those sudden, massive infections - the kind of unexpected reminder of bacterial dominance that killed Jim Henson. When I attended the funeral, I was reminded of another lower life form that afflicts humanity: the minister was an ecstatic Jesus freak who, rather than talking about the young woman we’d lost, or trying to give words of reassurance to a grieving family, instead tried to turn the affair into a revival meeting, asking people to TESTIFY FOR JESUS!!! and otherwise making her superstition the center of attention, rather than Lisa and loss. It galled me no end, as you might guess, and if it weren’t for my respect for members of my family I would have grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and thrown her into the street.

Maybe I should have anyway. Goddamn all preachers, pastors, and priests.

It was a nearly identical experience that removed the last shread of tolerance I had for Christians in general, and fundamentalists in particular. In retrospect, that day was probably the one on which I decided I’d have to stop pretending that I believed in any sort of afterlife, and impress upon the people I loved how important it is for me to make THIS life a full one instead. There are people in my life with whom I have left things unsaid, or undone… and to me, it is those missed opportunities for shared moments and memories (sometimes even painful ones) that make some losses more agonizing than others, and become catalysts for sweeping changes in one’s own life.

My dear departed friend was “born again” in the late-80s/early 90s, and at the time I had been Wiccan for several years. To her credit, she did live up to her faith and take every opportunity to bring me to Jesus; and although I thanked her and told her I understood her motivation, by then I’d not been a Christian for nearly twice as many years as I had been one, or at least nominally so.  I remember clearly the day that I tearfully asked her to not let our religious differences get in the way of a friendship that began in grade school, and she said she wouldn’t.

As it happened, something entirely unrelated (but painful and catalytic in its own right) caused our contact with one another to change from an almost-daily occurrence to such infrequency that by the time she died, it had probably been at least 8 years since we’d spent any time together.  When I got married, almost 11 years ago now, I’d heard that although she wished me well, she was frightened for the immortal souls of her loved ones who attended my pagan wedding ceremony. Again, although I truly understood her POV, hearing those words - fundy “talking points” - hurt my heart.

On 9/11/2001, fundamentalists flew airplanes into buildings and killed over 3000 Americans, and when I posted on a message board that such tragedy is what happens when religious people take their invisible friends and their ancient myths too seriously, I was accused of being a godless anti-American, damned to Hell and called the foulest names in Christendom. And perhaps that day I did become godless… and definitely anti-fundamentalist… but certainly not anti-American. If the horrific aftermath of the acts of fundamentalist Muslims wasn’t enough to show convince me that I wanted no part of the Abrahamic deity, the words and acts of Christians in their response was a clear demonstration of what a monster this God is; or more particularly, just how far His followers will go in their pursuit of pleasing such a monster.

I didn’t pray on 9/11.  And although I lit a candle, I recall thinking that it was a memorial in honor of everyone who died and NOT a small ritual beseeching an invisible friend for blessings or help to defeat “our enemies”. On that day, it really hit home just how irrational, unnecessary and downright dangerous it is to give credence to invisible friends of any stripe. As the smoking ruins of the WTC stood testament to, some people are religious enough, committed enough, BATSHIT CRAZY enough to kill themselves and others at the behest of their invisible friends. Others still are batshit crazy enough to say that those thousands of Americans died because their invisible friend is punishing the country for the religious tolerance, laws and public policy He supposedly disapproves of.

Free thought, science, dissent, free speech and religious tolerance have been victimized as well since the attacks on America that day. We are being intimidated into giving up our liberties in the name of security, while on the frontlines of the Culture War you can’t listen to 3 minutes of conversation or swing a fucking dead cat in public without running into Jesus.  The god-talk everywhere was bad enough for 10 years before 9/11… it’s unbearable now.

So back to my story…

My friend died quite suddenly later in 2001, and my first thought after hearing the news was, “Where was that fucking Jesus, to whom she’d enslaved her mind and spent the best years of her life in dedicated service to? What grievous ‘sin’ did a 38 year old mother commit that she deserved death NOW, when her children are almost grown?”

If her service was any indication, that Jesus character was right there, right now, and demanded the spotlight to the exclusion of any of those mere mortals who might get up there and profane the occasion by, y’know, talking about their daughter/mother/sister/friend/wife, whom they loved and now mourned the loss of. My despair and sense of decorum prevented me from making a scene, but between my ire at my friend’s taking a backseat to Jesus and having some rather emotional, long-overdue reunions with her family members, I remember that I was having spasms in my back muscles that made it difficult to walk, and breathe.  I escaped the church with all due haste, screaming and howling in pain and rage alone in my car until I got to her sister’s house where we’d gather after the burial.

There is no afterlife, no “better place” for a person to be, especially when they were young enough to be enjoying their family and friends.  The way I see it, even if you believe in an afterlife, living as though you don’t at least ensures you’ll enjloy THIS one to its fullest.  I will never see my friend again, and unlike believers, I find no comfort in the irrational precept that her death is somehow less tragic because “she’s with Jesus,” even though I know she’d have liked nothing better than for that guy-in-the-sky thing to be true.  Despite her commitment to Christ, I can’t help but think she’d much rather have waited a few more decades before going off to “be with” Him.

I sure as hell know I’d have liked her to become a crazy old lady with the rest of us, with or without Jesus.

Tuesday, June 08, 2004

On a lighter note…

Marsha and I are this month’s cover girls at PrimalX.com.  Damn, I look good as a gypsy (even next to the unable-to-take-a-bad-picture Sha! LOL).  Jessica’s talent knows no bounds.

As lovely as the photos came out, lately I find myself still fantasizing about having plastic surgery to correct some of the ravages of time.  It’d sure be a welcome change to go under the knife to get rid of something other than chunks of rotting vital organs.  My best girlfriend finds it horrifying that I’d risk dying from botched anesthesia, but I figure it’s just as worth the risk to wake up looking younger and thinner as it was to risk it only to wake up to what turned out to be months of recovering from asshole repair service.  Which I refer to as “a ring job,” to go along with 2 “hose replacements” (bowel resections) and the “front end job” (breast reduction).

The Bitch has a lot of miles on her; and since total mechanical restoration isn’t quite possible (yet… goddammit, Send In the Clones!!!), I’d happily settle for some restorative and/or custom body work.  Classic, yes.  Classy?  NOOOOOO.

Monday, March 18, 2002

DragonKing is Back

Our good friend DragonKing is back and paying big bucks!  $65 per, the highest in the business!  Adult Webmasters should SIGN UP NOW!