At church on Easter — which was packed, by the way but luckily wisely (having learned our lesson the previous week) we went early and got good seats pews, near where the pan-flute player (specially engaged for Easter) would be playing only he had fallen ill and a woman was playing the recorder instead and obviously had not had enough time to rehearse so her version of that Titanic song was a little shaky, not to mention you’re supposed to play that with a tin whistle, or at least a theremin and not a bloody recorder — the priest, speaking of resurrection and so on, said something about the grave some of us find ourselves in right here in life, and the resurrection we experience when we climb out of that or whatever and that for some reason spoke to me.
- Little girl with flyswatter & glitter: [Runs into room] Dang! Where are all the flies? [Runs into next room]
And so I’ve been thinking about that. As far as thoughts upon which to meditate go, that one has some good elements — the creepy/morbid grave image, the rebirth image. Because I wonder about that a lot, in view of the American — is it only an American? — obsession with interest in changing oneself: can that be done? Do we change ourselves when we think we’re changing ourselves? Or do we only change our behavior? Is there any difference? Are we our behavior?
- Little girl with flyswatter & glitter: [Runs back into room] Where are all the flies? I can’t find a single fly!
Dad: Oh, there’s one way up there. May I? [Takes swatter, kills fly.]
LGWF&G: Yay! [Picks fly up by legs, examines closely] Yay!
Dad: You want to feed Alpha II?
Mom: [Looks up from newspaper, narrows eyes]
LGWF&G: [Nods emphatically, eyes big]
Dad: [Reaches over, places Venus flytrap in front of LGWF&G]
LGWF&G: [Holds fly over gaping mouth of Venus flytrap, a little leery, finally drops it in.] It didn’t shut!
Dad: Eh, the fly landed in the corner. Hang on. [Blows fly into middle of flower, it snaps shut]
LGWF&G: Eek!
Dad: Wonder if we screwed up his karmic cycle?
LGWF&G: [Grabs swatter, resumes hunt for more flies]
You called the Venus fly trap Alpha II… I think that says it all.
Oh good: a birthday present from The Bone Room (http://www.boneroom.com) wouldn’t be out of line then. BTW, there’s a nice overview of Self as Tiny Bunch of Neurons And That’s About All over here (http://www.nytimes.com/2004/04/13/science/13CRIC.html), which suggests to me that the answer to the rebirthing question would come down to surgery, drugs, or endorphins or whatever chemicals one secretes when one is incredibly anxious/afraid/depressed. So basically drugs. But that’s so easily disproven, behavior-wise, that it only makes the question more complicated, so never mind.
I’m going to go shopping, now.
A Venus flytrap is harmless, I figure, D. I dated a woman in college whose husband named a pig after her. Then they let him out of prison and I stopped dating her.
that is just hilarious…but where did you get the venus flytrap?
the mug is STILL NOT HERE by the way. am waiting, and waiting, and waiting…
Churches should have assigned seating (pewing?), like movie theaters are starting to do. Maybe base it on who has tithed the most, or who sinned less in the previous week.
Alpha sounds nice. When she finally gives up on you could you give me her phone number?
Could be soon.