Jesus & Me

I woke up this morning thinking about how much Jesus and I have in common. (Do I say “have” or “had”? It’s really not clear to me if he’s dead or what. I know he came back on or around Easter, though I don’t think it was as big a holiday at the time. The Bible books don’t make it entirely clear whether he stayed back, and if so, which Apostle he went to live with.)

If you haven’t read the Bible stories about Jesus, by the way, you should, because they’re kind of interesting. I think there are four basic overviews—John, Paul, George, and the fourth may or may not be Ringo. They kind of tell his same story over each time, but with different angles, different versions. It’s kind of like the “All in the Familly” episode where Mike and Archie share conflicting accounts of the guys who came to fix the refrigerator, except they’re pretty much more in agreement that Jesus was a good guy and didn’t have a knife.

I don’t mean to being blasmatic, incidentally, comparing myself to Jesus in any offensive way. It’s my understanding that he was a terrifically nice guy, like Steven Spielberg, and while there are conflicting accounts that he may have been black (at least according to Mr. Jefferson on “All in the Family”), and/or incredibly homely—and I’m not sure where that came from, but I didn’t invent it—I’m pretty sure he was very wise and probably had a good sense of humor, although there’s no record of him having had a blog, as far as I know.

Actually, I was thinking about how we were both misunderstood in our own countries. Like him, I feel that I’m regularly frowned upon for not just my annoying capacity to speak the truth—and the more-annoying capacity for those around me to ignore it—but also for my inherent inability to connect with my fellows. It’s a real problem, as we both know. I understand that at parties and such, Jesus was usually very shy and stood off alone a lot, especially during the faster songs. Some of those pictures you see, like the famous “Last Supper,” seem to show him as the life of the party, but really that’s more of a fictionalized depiction. (Plus, he knew the Apostles pretty well and felt much more comfortable around them anyway.)

What I really identify with about Jesus was how he would always say these seemingly cryptic things that people didn’t get, but really they made a lot of sense. For instance, I was trying to explain to my wife why we should keep the shades drawn on the east side of the house until after noon, then we could open them, but should shut the shades on the west side. She still can’t seem to grasp it, but I know it makes sense when you don’t have air conditioning. See, Jesus went through that kind of thing a lot, and back then no one had air conditioning.

Realistically, I understand there are probably some things we don’t have in common. Like Jesus, I know, used to like to fish, and I don’t really do any fishing anymore, although I did a little when I was younger, but really it’s kind of a barbaric practice better left to Polynesians and southerners. I like eating fish, of course, and have had numerous good experiences with both lobster and haddock. When I was little I hated fish, however, which again makes me think of Jesus, because I don’t think he hated anything, except women.  Not to imply he was gay or anything—which is fine, because some of my best friends are gay, although I tend to be in denial about it—but I myself happen to like women even more than haddock.

Jesus and I both like to walk, too, by the way. I just love walking, although I can never get very far in sandals, the way he did. I’ve walked in various shoes, and I’m not being metaphoric. I mean, I’ve worn my good Florsheims, sneakers, cowboys boots … It’s interesting how feet—at least my feet—adapt to changing conditions (meaning changing shoes … or changed shoes). Sometimes I put on shoes that I haven’t worn a lot and walk, then my feet hurt. But after a few walking experiences, they don’t hurt anymore. Then when I return to my previous shoes—meaning my former shoes, or the shoes that were—(in other words, to paraphrase the Bible—before this pair of shoes was, these sneakers am!) …  See, when I get that first pair of shoes back on, now suddenly they hurt again (my feet, not the shoes), and the whole process repeats itself, except with different shoes.

This is very much like Jesus, I think, because he was always turning the other cheek, which metaphorically, if you stop and think about it, is very much like my turning the other shoe. I tend to believe that if Jesus lived today, he’d most likely wear a nice pair of old, brown shoes, like a British youth. I just don’t think he’d go in for any of these new fangled kinds of sneakers, or even sneakers at all. Even if he were on the soccer field—I don’t mean in a tourney, of course, but just a pick-up game—you’d probably see him playing in an old-fashioned brown shoe, complimenting his casual street clothes. That’s what I like about Jesus. Despite his savior role and all that fame he attained, I suspect he was very down to earth and probably stood his ground fashion-wise. I like to think I’m the same way.

If Jesus were alive today—or if he is alive and I ever get the opportunity to sit and have coffee with him—or tea, or lamb’s blood or whatever—I want to ask him how he manages to keep such a good attitude about things. I suspect it has to do with his fame. It’s much easier to be a maverick when you’re famous, like Alan Arkin. This I wouldn’t know, for my struggle to maintain integrity as an artist, a wag, and a concerned citizen unfolds in a veritable vacuum of non-appreciation, contempt and misunderstanding.

As usual, I'm not sure I've made myself clear, but I know that if he does read this Blah-ugh!, Jesus gets it. Amen!

Weighting for De-Grow

January 23, 2013:  Never one to fixate on weight, except in other people, I suddenly find myself struggling with this ungainly—if you’ll forgive the rather clever pun—subject. I’m reminded because it’s all I can do at this moment to not wrap my hotdogs in several buns each, all in order to satisfy the hunger that envelopes me and, simultaneously, attempts to assuage—if you’ll forgive the rather clever pun—my gaping god hole (as Wendy Mole so eloquently references it in the novel “Space Case”) …

I’m frightened to report that I’m at an all-time high with regard to my ever-increasing fatness. This is funny, because I’ve actually never looked better, at least that’s what many people keep telling me lately, although most of them are people I’ve never met before. But I know this has to do with my ongoing spiritual development, which seems to be proportionately linked to how much I’m eating. I think this is why Buddha was so fat, and Jesus, after he went out on his own, was known to just gorge himself on chickpeas and halvah. So, really, if I can let go of the societal-imposed ideals and negative messages, I’m really in a very centered place, although it’s a fat place, centered in whipped cream and doughnuts. The problem is understanding—or misunderstanding; I don’t really care which—that it’s not so much a gluttonous pursuit of sensual satisfaction that drives me, but a spiritual quest for more peace and more potatoes.

Somehow toward this subject—though I won’t be entirely sure how until I’m finished with this sentence—a friend of mine who’s apparently decaying rapidly has come to recognize that her failing eyesight, as she plummets into the unforgiving abyss of aging, is proving to be a remarkable gift. She sees—if you’ll forgive the rather clever pun—that all these awful examples of her imminent decay are meaningless and unimportant because her eyes are worse and she can’t see them as well—the decays I mean, not her eyes. This is brilliant, of course, and I identified with my own experience and discoveries. In fact, there’s a good chance I discovered it first, but she just hounded in for the credit, which is very like her. But no matter, for the soft-focus on my vision keeps me from bothering to claim victories, or even see what’s really going on—both here and abroad. And so the very physical maladies that approach me turn out to be a lovely means for physical denial. God knows I’ve lived in emotional and mental denial for so many years, isn’t it about time to have some physical denial as well? This is the same soft vision that enables me to overlook the rampant growth of hairs in my ears, mainly because I can’t see them. Of course if my vision were better, I might stand to notice them, but then if my vision were better, I wouldn’t be sprouting so many hairs in the first place.

This is sound circular thinking, of course, and explains—dare I even say justifies—the reasoning behind my new weight gain, (if you could even call it that; some would say I look great and the addition of a few fatty pounds is just my body’s way of making more room for the bountiful spiritual growth I’m enjoying) …

And now I don’t remember where I started. Let’s just say, I’d like to lose a few pounds, but I simply too good a person to do it.

Halloween: The Real Pinnacle of Christian Values

October 31, 2009: I'd be remiss in my duties did I not take a few moments to meditate on my favorite day of the year -- Halloween (or, as it's more popularly known, "October 31st").

Contrary to what many of you rabid Bible-wielding fanatics (Shannon & Matt) may think, this is not some unholy celebration of Satan and those surly, disenfranchised minions of the Dark Lord (meaning those chubby people who wear lots of mascara and face jewelry, and listen to Led Zeppelin). No, in fact Halloween is the very essence of Christian community! Halloween is a powerful demonstration of old-fashioned Christian values, and at its best exemplifies the kind of orderly, clear-thinking unity that makes the Right Wing just get all wet down below.

On what other holiday (and I ask rhetorically) do we have such interaction with our neighbors? While 364.25 days of our average year are spent shunning our neighbor -- avoiding looks when we're cutting the lawn, turning our heads when we pass them on the street to avoid having to speak -- (at least this is how I handle it, and I consider myself quite average, despite my dashing good looks) -- on Halloween the excuse comes to walk right up to our neighbor's door and (through our children) demand gifts, (the whole time assessing how good or bad their home furnishing taste may be as judged by their front foyer). If this isn't a perfect opportunity to "love" our neighbor (as Jesus demanded in one of his mad rants), it's certainly a great chance to tolerate their presence because they're giving us candy.

Let's also not forget how good it is to see everyone in costume. Even ugly people can look brilliant in the right ensemble, and nothing brings the joys of youth and exuberance to the elderly or infirmed like a wolfman mask.

I can't say enough about Halloween. To me it was best captured by a certain old photograph taken by the late George Silk. (See the pic below my profile ... On the right, you fool! ... Yes, I know it's too small to see, but I'm a writer, not a computer technician! What do you want from me?!) Also, the movie "Halloween III," with the underrated Tom Atkins, as well as Orson Welles' "War of the Worlds" broadcast, bare trees, deranged pumpkins, and wooden xylophones played in minor keys.

Keep a Jack O'Lantern burning tonight, or throw food in the yard to appease the dead. (That's Halloween 101.) Expect the weirdest, for the barriers are down, and don't trust that the people you're interacting with are even them themselves, for this is Halloween, and it's not like other nights or days.

But most importantly, remember that Halloween is the antithesis of evil. It is, in fact, the real answer to the notorious moral cavity gaping in our society, like a sperm whale's blow hole. For all you fearful and fearing zealous Christian crazies (Matt & Shannon), who like to bash the off-beat celebration, ironically Halloween is the answer of which Ronald Reagan so rabidly dreamed -- a chance for folks to commune in the safety of darkness, and fool their neighbors into thinking they're all part of a loving, happy, magical world.