Saturday, May 21, 2011

As we move toward 6pm...

I like this guy's take on it:

This is actually Maine. So, yes, heaven.

Wanting Sumptuous Heavens
By Robert Bly
No one grumbles among the oyster clans,
And lobsters play their bone guitars all summer.
Only we, with our opposable thumbs, want
Heaven to be, and God to come, again.
There is no end to our grumbling; we want
Comfortable earth and sumptuous Heaven.
But the heron standing on one leg in the bog
Drinks his dark rum all day, and is content.
Humans, always wanting to impose the storyline! Why do we need the promise of a change of scenery? Or is it a fearful future we need, to upgrade our obedience, take stock, celebrate our virtue and finally ironically celebrate the near-miss we didn't REALLY believe was coming? But we are allowed to briefly live in this in-between space of knowing and not-knowing tomorrow is coming, which is kind of interesting.
The rapture won't erase the babies and cats, so there will be lots to do. The rapture won't erase my debts, because no matter who goes to heaven, the loan companies will remain. The rapture won't erase work left undone, so I will continue going through papers and budgeting. I will still pump the tires in my bicycle. I will play my bone guitar. 
Here's a funny idea, there may be some extra vehicles out there up for grabs... (The government would emphatically NOT be in charge, how could we render unto Caesar?) I will play my bone guitar, and drive someone else's car tomorrow. If you're planning on being raptured, could you just leave a note on your car? Guitar on the front seat, and keys in the ignition, please.
A great rapture song by ELO:
Let us dance ourselves into oblivion.