Entry VII--Hash Wednesday (Conclusion)

Seeing myself in even more visions than just the burned out church and the Dome.

It's as if those original two visions are splitting off into even more visions.

Now I'm in another church, not unlike one from my childhood, and there I am, dressed in a suit and tie, dutifully attending with a wife and child in tow. The perfect catholick family (except that we're about five kids short).

My hands are clapsed, my head bowed humbly (and completely voluntarily I might add).

This vision is really frightful. Respected myself much more when I was bowing, but still defiant, before Pleasant.

Much rather be forced to have faith than willingly accept it, to welcome it.

To the left of that scenario is yet another unfolding before my eyes, this one decidedly more pleasant, mostly cause its sans Pleasant.

I'm in that futuristic Dome once more, but bowing before no one. Rather, I'm seated at a very large, very impressive Round Table, surrounded in this perfect circle by folks who all seem quite fascinating.

Can't tell exactly what is is we're discussing, but whatever it is, it's heated and passionate.

As my extended vision begins to drift to yet another scene crystalizing into existence, I hear distant chords of music that becomes increasingly more prominent, as if wherever the song is coming from is getting closer.

Soon it's near enough that the vibrations, especially those of bass and percussion, bounce off my cheeks.

And then, that voice most familiar once again sings to me and only me:

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Your creativity, enslaved to lust"

"Always been serving, on bended knee
Always been serving, the words are not free"

"Never been serving, your fiery passion
Never been serving, what you will fashion"

"So ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Liberate the words, serve as you must"

jesus, those lyrics are even more cryptic than the ones from xmas eve.

Meanwhile the FireWheel burns even hotter, and from wherever my central vantage point is supposed to be, it's like each individual flame holds a distinctly separate image of a possible destiny that I, Darwin Grimm, could be living out...

Me in front of a PC screen, writing for a living...

Me as a janitor, mopping up toilets...

Me fucking that redhead, the one I see everywhere I go...

Me seated in a courtroom, on trial...

Me living in a San Francisco flat with a bunch of interesting characters...

Me flipping hamburgers in a sweaty greasy grill...

Me eating out Ms. Cabal's pussy...

Me as a homeless drunk in front of a liquor store, begging for change...

Me with a suburban wife and a kid in prep school...

Me in the soldier in the military, putting a bullet between the eyes of a captured Arabic soldier ...

Me piloting a plane on an international flight...

Me as a white trash ghetto pimp, slapping a whore who isn't turning tricks fast enough...

Me as a brain surgeon, performing delicate surgery...

Me as a fugitive, on the run from somebody or something...

Me, standing in front of an impressive circular structures of some kind, delivering a speech to a large gathered throng...

Me wearing a crucifix...

Me kneeling before Ms. Cabal, who radiates the power of a god...

Me being punched in the solar plexus by Rev Pleasant...

Me strapped to a table, being brainwashed...

Me anally fucking Ms. Cabal, who is bent over before me as a true submissive...

Me as a being of pure thought...

Me endlessly...

And the visions in the flames become a lifetime of dreams and nightmares and possibilities spread out before me, like an almost infinite hall of mirrors.

Wish I could analyze what it all means more substantially, more coherently, but I'm so fucking high the best I can do for now is just take it all in.

Maybe somebody could explain it to me some time.(that's a laugh).

It could also be a magnification of my increasingly psychotic schizophrenia.

But I'm not climbing on any therapist's couch tonight, so gonna have to ride it out.

And watch the FireWheel rage on to an unbelievable mass of heat and energy...

Until it can no longer be contained...

Until it consumes itself, like the mythical phoenix....

Until all that's left are ashes.And with the flames of the FireWheel gone, so vanish the multiplicity of visions.

Until all that's left is me, standing knee-deep in a pile of ashes, while still more float down around my head in a snowstorm of alteration.

Not sure where this supposed to be now, whether it's the ruins of the church or somewhere completely different.

Not too long before I see the outline of shrouded figures in the distance.

Menacing? Still too far too tell.

They move in my general direction, till they get close enough that I see that they are specifically approaching me, wading through the ever growing drift of ashes.

At first, still thinking I'm in the church ruins, assuming that it's members of the congregation, the ones who went screaming out of the burning house of god like a bunch of little pussies...

But when they get close enough to my spotty vision, can see they're actually from that "Round Table" vision I had.

Never formally met any of these people (at least, outside of that vision) but feel like I know them better than I do members of my only family. Certainly, feel more comfortable in their presence than I do pretty much all of my own flesh-n-blood.

As each one passes by, she or he silently acknowledges me by dipping her/his hand in the now thigh-high ashes...

And each one of them marks their forehead with smeared ash.

At first, can't tell what they've marked, but when a couple get close enough...

See that it's the mark of the FireWheel.

Can't help myself. As reverent a scenario as this is supposed to be, can't hold in a quiet laugh.

Not a mocking tone, but a laugh of accomplishment and satisifaction.

Just then, the wind picks up a bit, and one particularly sharp edge ash changes direction mid-air, landing squarely in my left eye.

Blink.

And here I am, staring at the ashes of the now deceased hashball, the black white and gray residue under the overturned goblet on the table in my apartment.

I'm back.

Or rather, all the visions left me alone.

Not exactly sure how to react to what just happened to me.

One thing's for certain, I don't want a drink.

No, I want to write.

Now I am hallucinating.

No, I'm serious.

But what to write about?

Ah-ha! Hash--er, ash wednesday.

I've already seen the material.

Flip on the PC and try to remember everything I wrote while on my knees...

Entry VII--Hash Wednesday (Part 4)

It's not an exaggeration to state that christianity's relentless opposition to scientific progress, from the Dark Ages to the evangelical agenda of our current government, has sentenced us all to die prematurely. Every person reading this book would already be enjoying the benefits of drastically extended--if not outright eternal--lifespans. (Realizing that "eternal lifespan" is an oxymoron).

It's just that christianity has become more refined over the years. Whereas all science was heresy in the Dark Ages, now it's stem cell research and cloning.

Of course, jaw dropping advancements in military high tech are always acceptable. Killing people, good. Extending lives, bad.

But when it comes to medical science, the world has been playing catch up since the Dark Ages. For every disease we cure, two more take its place. Sure, life expectancy had increased in the modern world but existence still ends much too soon much too late in our history.

But when (not if) that future arrives guaranteeing each mortal immortality, and with it, the abolition of death, then the ashes will only symbolize repentance for sins.

Though there's always the hope the culture has truly evolved at that point and even the concept of sin would be relegated to the dustbin of mythology.

It'd be a surprise if chrisitianity actually manages to survive then, when it’s no longer necessary because people are no longer dying. Eh, maybe it can fill a niche in Alabma somewhere.

Not that was fun to write.

Truth is, haven’t enjoyed myself writing that much in years. But in the midst of my revelry, a sobering thought lets itself be known and being the good scribe that I am, feel obligated to explore it here (besides there’s still more blinding blank pages I need to fill up):

There's only thing that could prevent our culture moving under from under the darkening shadow of the crucifix, and that's if the ashes take on a more literal significance if they are ever transubstantiated into the ashes of a fiery Armageddon, that some fundamentalist endtimers in political power think is the only true path to salvation.

They'd gladly blow up the world to hasten the return of their lord and savior, whom they believe will only come back out for an encore if Earth is in awash in flames.

And the ashes would rain down from a nuclear sky upon humankind, marking the foreheads of both the survivors and the dead, with a fitting symbol of a faith triumphant spreading death across the land.

Ash Wednesday would be followed by Ash Thursday, then Ash three day Weekend. Followed by by Ash Life. Making ash-holes out of each and every one of us.

That's it. Got it down to the last line on the last page. These pages weren't as hard to fill as I thought.

Not bad for a first draft written under the gun--or crop, as it were.

Skim over it, keeping my head down every second. May be riding high over what I've just accomplished, but still don't have the guts to look up before Ms. Cabal instructs me to do so and incurring Ms. Cabal's wrath...


"And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil...

Amen."

That's it. Got it down to the last line. Wasn't as hard for me to remember as I thought.

Not a bad rendition considering I hadn't said it since I was a teenager and being under the gun--or crop, as it were.

After a reflective pause, Rev Pleasant addresses me: "You surprised me there, Grimm. Listening to you recite the Lord's Prayer like that, why you sounded as though you truly believe."

Instantly raise my head, forgetting that I am most likely defying the good reverend in the process.

Can't help myself, I have to look Pleasant in the eye and assure him:

"I do believe, sir."

This man of God is not angered by my disobedience. Instead, humble satisfaction fills Rev Pleasant's expression, and in his shiny cheekbones I see the reflected satisfaction on the faces of the congregation in the pews behind my kneeling body.


Now that I've read it over can see this ash wednesday essay needs a helluva lot of work if I'm going to shape it into something readable.

Still, it was inspired. Like I said, haven't written with that kind of passion and purpose in ages, not mechanistically rote like I have for years.

Then, like I've been waiting for it all my life, Ms. Cabal's rich inquiry cuts through the silence:

"Finished, Darwin?"

"Yes, Ms. Cabal," I reply, with eyes continuing to be cast down on the book pages.

"You may look up, Darwin."

Thrilled to be finally given this opportunity but don't want to come across as grinning and banal, so crane my neck up slowly, with a measure of patience, holding my expression even and my eyes steady, preparing to meet hers...

But they aren't there. Rather, Ms. Cabal isn't there.

She's been replaced by the FireWheel; burning before me, towering above me.

But unlike the glare of the blank pages or the blinding light of the crucifix, the FireWheel is warm and inviting.

Not saying I'm going to leap into the dancing flames, but I don't feel threatened by it in the least. It doesn't bring any sense of terror and anxiety like it did in all my past visions.


In the same way I'm no longer intimidated by the bright reflective glare of the Crucifix.

In fact, no longer seeing the Reverend--just the Crucifix, my eyes locking with Christ's.

And with that connection, amazing empathy swells in my breast for this man/God who experienced so much pain just to save my sinful soul.

And just when I'm about ready to surrender my life to Him, there's something in His eye...

Did my Lord blink? No, it was a flicker...of a small flame, like you'd find on the single candle on the birthday cake of a baby celebrating his first birthday.

But it's no reflection; rather the flame appears to be flickering inside Christ's eye, the pupil replaced by flame, which grows larger with each passing moment...

Until Christ's Eye can no longer contain it and the fire melts away His eye and then multiplies, conflagrating Christ's head, and within 60 seconds--the whole bloody crucifix.

And with that, feel like I've staggered free from a confusing soupy fog, and I can see again.

More importantly--can think for myself again.

But that flame was not content to burn only the crucifix; no, they unite to reassemble into a familiar form--the FireWheel, which promptly sets the entire church ablaze, just like it did in St. Whatever, that time I was an extra.

What's better, the inferno sends the congregation running for their lives. Whate else are they to do? Their spiritual leader, Pleasant, along with the lifesize representation of their lord and savior have both been burned away and replaced by a rapaging FireWheel.

Now free to do as I please, twist my head over my shoulder, back at the terrified mob, to get a better look at their terror.

But it's the funniest thing...

As they dash past me, frantically seeking the nearest exit--or any exit, each and every one of the faithful--who by all accounts, should really hate my guts and curse my soul--stop and take the time to look me right in the eye...

...offering the widest smiles of gratitude you ever did see.

Damn, was hoping to mock them, but they've collectively left me dumbfounded, it's like they're thanking me for liberating them.

Wasn't my doing as far as I can tell, but that's never stopped me taking credit for another man's work.

Every one of the flock manages to skin out safely, which surprisingly, makes me feel good. Deep down, they're just sheep being led to slaughter, can't say I wanted any real harm to come to them.

I should really start looking at most christians as potential allies to be set free rather than as out-and-out enemies.

Meanwhile, the FireWheel does not diminish in the slightest, on the contrary it has grown to epic proportions, threatening to consume the entire church in its wake. This vast, impressive structure built as a holy shrine to the most worshipped deity in human history is taken down in a matter of moments by a figment of my imagination.

So powerful is the blaze that it begins to consume itself in the process, with nothing left to burn. Aye, the FireWheel stared into the abyss, and the abyss stared back.

And then, it starts really getting weird...

Entry VII--Hash Wednesday (Part 3)

FOR THE FIRST TWO PARTS OF HASH WEDNESDAY AND THE FIRST 6 ENTRIES OF THIS NOVEL, PLEASE SCROLL DOWN AND/OR ACCESS PAST ARCHIVES)

"On Earth as it is in Heaven..."

Though I must maintain my concentration, can't help reflecting back to a time when I genuinely believed these words, when I was a kid, when I was positive that God and Jesus were listening to me recite the Lord's Prayer.

And then, I slip...

"Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our...sins, as we forgive those who...trespass against us."

As soon as I uttered "trespass," I knew where I had fucked up. It's not "forgive us our sins," it's "forgive us our trespasses"

Just a little mistake, really--trespass in this context is just a substitute for sin--though some would argue it means "debts."

But that's not good enough for Pleasant, and once again the crop comes riding down across my mug, hard.

Want to scream but know that'll just get me another one, harder.

Drop of blood from somewhere on my face falls on the church rug, staining the perfect white with evidence of my incompetence.


Man, felt that last smack of the crop against my face in this parallel reality, that's how hard it was.

That's why I hope I wasn't getting too far afield with the whole paganism/devil tangent in my scribing, don't want to incur the wrath of Ms. Cabal and have to endure the same punishment from her riding crop.

That distraction floats away soon enough, replaced by another issue I seek to explore...

Fasting, like receiving the ashes, is a ritual. Ritual is the cornerstone of all religions, serving as a continously reinforced measure of control. The freethinker rejects ritual because it restricts cultural growth from generation to generation.

Like other christian measures of control (such as baptism), receiving the ashes presumes the receiver as "sinful" and thus the receiver must engage in the ritual in order to "overcome" the sin, be it willingly or unwittingly (such as a newborn baby being baptized. Nobody asked the kid if he wanted to be dunked in water like an apple on Halloween).

Having ashes rubbed on the forehead ties the receiver closer to the belief on a physical level, it actualizes christianity in the believer's mind, it makes it more tangible and visceral. christianity needs such rituals and physical experiences to appeal to every person's natural connection to reality; otherwise christianity is just an unknowable abstraction based on blind faith.

But looking past the ritual and the symbolism of the ashes, one sees that it's all about control. The ashes, baptismal water, communion wafers et al are all interchangeable parts, window dressing. Control's the thing.

That despicable notion--that humans are "sinners" that have to be "saved" is how one's freewill is broken--or worse, prevented from ever developing.

Freewill brakes when one substitutes his/her own judgment for the judgment of a deity--or a human representing said deity. With no judgment of their own, believers are susceptible to accept the false notion that they are "sinners," that they are lowly creatures before god/christ.

By buying into christianity's moral code, the believer is transformed into a sinner who lacks self-possession. Just a mindless automoton, ready willing and able to do the bidding of the church.

With these lenses of perception, it's not much of a reach to see when the christian accepts the ashes, it's not unlike cattle being branded for slaughter.

"Lenses of perception"--does that sound too pretentious? Ah well, the first draft of anything is shit, so it stays for now. My purpose remains fill the pages and save my eyes from the pain of the burning light.

Accepting that one is a sinner is not beneficial. It does not humble an individual properly, rather it sets her/him at odds with her/himself, and could even contribute to a person's inhibition from succeeding in the world due to lack of self-confidence engendered

(Gee...I wouldn't be referring to anyone I know, now would I?)

One way to break the chain of control and wrest back one's freewill is to abandon the ritual, to not participate in it, and replace that empty space, that empty ritual with an act of creativity or a discovery in consciousness expansion, so that one grows instead of repeating.

Not sure about that last bit there--do I really wanna come off sounding like some half-baked self-help guru? Have always made fun of and held disdain for those books and their authors, and I don't want to fall into the manipulative trap of making false promises.

Why, I'd be no better than christianity.

But I am encouraged by the bit I wrote about abadoning ritual. The idea of wholesale, widespread rejection of a particular component of christianity intrigues me, as if it's something I could revisit throughout my writings for Ms. Cabal.

(Hmm, say that like I'm actually serious about producing something of substance for her).

One thing's for sure, am beginning to look forward to the challenge of writing this book for Ms. Cabal...


Think I've finally got this sh--er, prayer stuff figured out. Think I can finish this without getting my face beaten off by Pleasant's stiff riding crop.

It came to me as a momentary reflection before, but what I've really got to do is really concentrate in order to sincerely project my childhood memories into my recitation of the Lord's Prayer, back when I was that faithful kid who went to church alone every Sunday, even while his family was sleeping off their hangovers or just didn't care enough to get up early on the Lord's Day.

So with a loud clear, umcompromising tone, I revisit the lines that had been my downfall just moments ago:

"Give us this day our daily bread...
And forgive us our trespassess...
As we forgive those who trespass against us..."

And for the first time ever, the full implication of the words becomes clear to me; in order for God to forgive us our sins, all we need do is repent for those sins. Therefore, if we expect God to forgive us our sins, we must be prepared to forgive others, who are just sinners like us.

(Hmm...say that like I belive in every word and am ready to do anything for God).

One thing's for sure, am beginning to look forward to the challenge of reciting this prayer for Rev. Pleasant...

Yield not to temptation and don't look up for Pleasant's approval, but rather lower my neck and head as far down as they'll reach until till my spine arches and I become uncomfortable.

And that makes sense, because when one is repenting for one's sins, one should feel physically uncomfortable in order to mimic the spiritual discomfort the soul is undergoing.


While my actions and thoughts grow scarier by the moment over there in the church, I'm growing increasingly impressed with myself here at the Dome. It's almost as if my creative self here siphons off energy or inspiration or perhaps just spite from my subjugated self.

Wish I could blot the whole church scene out of my mind's eye but it remains as clear and constant as what is before me here, I can't escape experiencing both liberating creation and self-abasement simultaneously.

Ultimately, the ashes of ash Wednesday reinforce the implict christian concept that death is something to be venerated, the ashes become a badge of honor worn, covering the pineal gland.

(Am I getting a little too metaphysical there, perchance with all that talk of pineal glands? Besides, it's actually in the center of the brain, not directly behind the forehead.)

Exalting death as the ideal has served christianity well; it allows christianity to hold the trump card--as death is inevitable at present.

But such might not be the case in the future.

There could come a time when ashes would no longer ring with the same symbolic resonance, once humanity conquers death via scientific means--nanotechnology, cloning, genetic engineering, what have you.

Is that the secret reason christianity opposes science?

I don't know about "secret reason." Sounds too contrived, or perhaps too juvenile. Maybe it should just be "reason."

But I'm on a roll with this point:

It is not an exaggeration to state that christianity's perpetual opposition to scientific progress throughout the centuries, from the Dark Ages to the evangelical agenda of our current government, has sentenced us all to die prematurely. Every person reading this book would already be enjoying the benefits of drastically extended--if not outright eternal--lifespans (realizing that an "eternal span"is an oxymoron).

It's just that christianity has become more refined over the years. Whereas all science was heresy during the Dark Ages, now it's stem cell research and cloning.

Of course, jaw dropping advancements for military high-tech is always morally acceptable.

But when it comes to medical science, the world has been playing catch-up since the Dark Ages.

But when (not if) that future arrives guaranteeing each mortal immortality, and with it the abolition of death, the ashes can only symbolize repentance for sins. That is, if christianity manages to survive in a world where it's no longer necessary. Eh, maybe it can carve out a niche following somewhere in Alabama.

Now that was fun to write.

Truth is, haven't had this much fun writing in years. But even in the midst of my revelry, a sobering thought makes itself known and I decide to include it, comprehensive author that I am: