My first serious or concentrated thoughts and discussions of God in and without the context of philosophy occured with Mervyn Fergusen while working at C.B.G.B.’s in NYC where I formed among other opinions that God has a sense of humor.
My experience with the Roman Catholic church has not changed that opinion.
It would be a laughable understatement to say, that He gives us just enough rope with which to hang ourselves. Think upon it in light of Judas and it isn’t that funny. See that the parenthetical cites the exception. That is proper but not the real work.
To humor, the spirit that is perfect and calls us to truth. To the neighbor, the lover, the self who forms plans. Time goes by and more often than not we imagine our wagons still hitched in its cleansing wake.
I cannot laugh with God. I am the joke. I am partially formed, and devoted in the manner of the sparrow and a seed. I am complete in parts to the eye that sees a whole where, in fact, regions of passion idle and curdle like the Pacific in a tidepool.
To laughter and the threads that bind. A glance to seal an evening’s rest. Faces line up to say, Me not the other, like musical notes. I have eyes that see but I will not take myself literally.
You can be discrete and knowing, of course. You can make a habit of nodding. Nod away. At me, my wife and child. At God. You will waste no one’s time. You will remain unembarrassed and unimpressed. Nothing can shake the nodding man. He is awake and not awake. He falls for nothing and is never erect. There is no trouble where there is no concern. The heart is an ancient vessel.
Original for years, a face takes its rest in a concrete television set. Your work makes of flowers jewels set into the eye cavities of remote though adjacent deities. If only one could set it to a score – but, see. It is done. More glory. More taking away.
That was always me. I was always there. I will always be there. I can forget everything else, I will not forget that.