After a passing conversation with a butt-light carrying insect (an alitaptap in the vernacular), I made up the postulate of the first inquirer. With much inspiration from the big screen ad of some daily spread, I poised to ask: who was indeed the first inquirer? Who dared ask the first question?
Eve.
The biblical female who, in the book of genesis, is faulted with the first sin of god’s beloved man, is probably also painted in a demeaning light. Trains of thoughts have since took voyage in my mind after my sunday afternoon epiphany and as I would expect, also a lot of what if’s.
If indeed angels had the disability to compare their squalid state of blind obedience and their existence is oblivious to the popular human emotions of envy, greed, and insatiable desire, then the morning star would not have had the idea that man is favored over his kind (unless of course, he too has taken the bite of the fruit of the infamous tree. but where would he get the idea in the first place). He would not have started the heavenly Star Wars and there wouldn’t be any consequential temptation of Eve by the snake.
Given this highly presumptuous theory, Eve would then be imbibed with curiosity looking at the ominous tree in the middle of the Garden of Eden. The bible tells of how Eve offered the fruit to her companion (not spouse, as the sacrament of marriage then was still nonexistent) Adam. What prompted her to take the fruit, without serpentine influence, could be her mind asking simple questions about the irregularities of the premature god.
Why were we forbidden to eat the fruit of the tree?
Why was it in the middle of the garden, in plain sight, readily accessible to every animal ever created?
Why was it placed strategically where it can tempt the most?
Was it place deliberately to test how much I can take, or if I will buckle?
Why was I ever punished for exercising my greatest right – free will?
Eve’s brain must be a chaotic mess, and her heart must be pounding every beat as she searched for answers. And as the deity who made them only speaks to his male companion, Eve must be battling her wits moreover. To add to the temptation, the answer she seeks is right there in front of her, taunting her, begging her to be eaten.
As a footnote to this absurdly wonderful theory, the first and the greatest cover-up in history was also committed. Man was not to be blamed, as he is as the maker is, so is he also perfect. Free will was a gift not given by mistake, but instead a very vulnerable point in man, which can either cause him to suffer, or be rewarded. Evil was the cause of man’s downfall. Evil. An entity created when an unfeeling angel decided God stepped over the line.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Sunday, August 05, 2007
...sunday evening epiphany...
The brightly colored ceiling of that ominous structure seemed pale at that moment when I lifted my head from sporadic sleep. Sitting in that monoblock chair while listening to a man garbed in white talk about how earthly possessions are of no use in the afterlife, I feel like I was intoxicated with sleep serum.
Then it hit me.
In times like these, I consider myself one of two things – either I am greatly blessed with the gift of an open mind and great reason, or I am simply greatly insane. Either way, I can tell my brain cells are at work again, and that senility is just around the corner, having consumed so much of these little critters that I think none is left in the insides of my skull.
I was staring at the man in white, hearing him speak, but not really listening, or at least trying to. Out of nothingness, I felt somebody behind me (which of course is just the wall, cue twilight zone theme) whisper. I felt the demons of this church were at work, looking out for those yawning, or balancing their checkbooks. I was simply questioning what the man in white was saying, about the things you shouldn’t and should do. I was probably interesting enough for these demons that one chose to talk to me (albeit of course, I was only talking to myself) The conversation, at least I think it was one, went like this:
Me (M): I know you’re there… what do you want?
Demon (matt?? Hehehe): (nothing, just silence…)
(at this point, I think I was having a monologue…)
M: hindi mo ako masasapian, hindi kita pinapayagan! (you cannot make sapi to me, I am not giving you permission!)
Anong gagawin mo? Tatakutin mo ako? Bakit mo ako tatakutin, e dapat nga kinukumbinsi mo ako para sumali sa army nyo laban sa diyos. (what are you going to do? Scare me? Why would you scare me, when you should be recruiting me to join you in your army against god?)
O baka naman talaga yan ang trabaho mo? Manakot. Magparusa. Kung ganon nga, you are still under the service of God! (or maybe that is really your job? To scare. To punish. If so, you are still under the service of God!)
What if, your new job is really to punish. And that you are part of the grand –rewards-punishment scheme of the universe!
Ha! Hindi na ako takot sa iyo! (I’m no longer scared of you!)
Thus my epiphany that night. It occurred to me that Lucifer, after all these time, could not, and would not ask for forgiveness from the man upstairs. Why? Speculations abound, but that night, I was convinced that he didn’t need to. He was “transferred” to a new role, from the bearer of light, the morning star, to the one called Satan, Belzeebub, and all other hideous names which man has come to call him. He now handles the punishment part of the scheme. And that without him, or the thought of hell, the souls of man will not follow the righteous way of the scriptures.
He is there to keep us all in line. I now have little belief that there ever was a great heavenly war, between angels and angels over the existence of men. The whole bad image of demons and the underworld was created to keep us in fear, fearful of the immense punishment that awaits the wicked. Eternal damnation for the bad.
On the other side of the epiphany, this is perhaps the ultimate revenge the angels have on the weakling called man created by the man upstairs with the gift of free will, and endowed with immeasurable mercy and understanding.
I pity the angels. Their existence is one of servitude and obedience, BUT with the conscious knowledge that another creature, made after them, enjoys a whole lot of freedom, with the option of making mistakes and then being forgiven simply by repenting. Theirs must be a life of continuous hell…
Then it hit me.
In times like these, I consider myself one of two things – either I am greatly blessed with the gift of an open mind and great reason, or I am simply greatly insane. Either way, I can tell my brain cells are at work again, and that senility is just around the corner, having consumed so much of these little critters that I think none is left in the insides of my skull.
I was staring at the man in white, hearing him speak, but not really listening, or at least trying to. Out of nothingness, I felt somebody behind me (which of course is just the wall, cue twilight zone theme) whisper. I felt the demons of this church were at work, looking out for those yawning, or balancing their checkbooks. I was simply questioning what the man in white was saying, about the things you shouldn’t and should do. I was probably interesting enough for these demons that one chose to talk to me (albeit of course, I was only talking to myself) The conversation, at least I think it was one, went like this:
Me (M): I know you’re there… what do you want?
Demon (matt?? Hehehe): (nothing, just silence…)
(at this point, I think I was having a monologue…)
M: hindi mo ako masasapian, hindi kita pinapayagan! (you cannot make sapi to me, I am not giving you permission!)
Anong gagawin mo? Tatakutin mo ako? Bakit mo ako tatakutin, e dapat nga kinukumbinsi mo ako para sumali sa army nyo laban sa diyos. (what are you going to do? Scare me? Why would you scare me, when you should be recruiting me to join you in your army against god?)
O baka naman talaga yan ang trabaho mo? Manakot. Magparusa. Kung ganon nga, you are still under the service of God! (or maybe that is really your job? To scare. To punish. If so, you are still under the service of God!)
What if, your new job is really to punish. And that you are part of the grand –rewards-punishment scheme of the universe!
Ha! Hindi na ako takot sa iyo! (I’m no longer scared of you!)
Thus my epiphany that night. It occurred to me that Lucifer, after all these time, could not, and would not ask for forgiveness from the man upstairs. Why? Speculations abound, but that night, I was convinced that he didn’t need to. He was “transferred” to a new role, from the bearer of light, the morning star, to the one called Satan, Belzeebub, and all other hideous names which man has come to call him. He now handles the punishment part of the scheme. And that without him, or the thought of hell, the souls of man will not follow the righteous way of the scriptures.
He is there to keep us all in line. I now have little belief that there ever was a great heavenly war, between angels and angels over the existence of men. The whole bad image of demons and the underworld was created to keep us in fear, fearful of the immense punishment that awaits the wicked. Eternal damnation for the bad.
On the other side of the epiphany, this is perhaps the ultimate revenge the angels have on the weakling called man created by the man upstairs with the gift of free will, and endowed with immeasurable mercy and understanding.
I pity the angels. Their existence is one of servitude and obedience, BUT with the conscious knowledge that another creature, made after them, enjoys a whole lot of freedom, with the option of making mistakes and then being forgiven simply by repenting. Theirs must be a life of continuous hell…
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
...sensible quote...
"Revenge sex is NOT the answer!" - meredith grey
damn! i haven't even heard of the question... have you?
damn! i haven't even heard of the question... have you?
Monday, May 07, 2007
...baby cockroaches in my bed...
Sitting here wasted and wounded, at this old piano
Trying hard to capture the moment, this morning I don’t know…
I think Jon Bon Jovi is misunderstood. This is exactly how I am feeling right now. The coldness in my room from an overworked air-conditioner seems to numb not only my skin but the intellectual in me as well. My usually active neurons are still curled up nicely in their neurotic beds somewhere inside my head. Surprisingly, I seem to be thinking with my fingers. Fancy that! My appendages have a mind of their own!
And you think you could expect much from this entry, didn’t you?
I missed blogging. And not to add more to this pining, a slim whale just summarized in his blog what bloggers actually (it’s rather more a matter of opinion) feel about blogging. Geez, I never thought I could use three derivative forms of the word “blog” in a sentence. Congratulations to me!
Seriously though. Much credit should be given to bloggers. They promote voyeurism in a world where nothing much can be seen. They are the ultimate exhibitionists in the pseudo-sexual world. It takes a lot of courage to actually bare one’s self for others to criticize and lambaste, as appropriately stated by that hormonally-imbued whale “I have stripped my clothes off in this blog, both figuratively and literally, to expose my soul. You have, so far, been seeing me in all my nakedness, excess hair and all. The sublime and the hideous have all been mixed up here like jello and mud, each enhancing the flavor of the other.” Whatever that shit means.
Or simply they are just over-excited self-centered good-for-nothing mothafuckers who think the world revolves around them, and that civilization is benefitting from their extensive narcissism.
I think I belong to the latter.
He walks with a purpose, in his sneakers, down the street.
He had many questions, like children often do.
There seems to be a serious lack of patience these days, so serious that it can be declared an epidemic. Blame it on the scorching 40 degree heat that’s cooking half of the people in the city. The other half (including me) is comfortably soaking their white rich asses inside air-conditioned rooms while intently awaiting footages of Paris Hilton’s prison cell on E! channel. Now, MY patience seemed to suddenly run low.
I’m sorry. There. I had been pervertedly impatient with you. I should, and I know I can, give you more than the usual dose of patience that you deserve. And that ever highly-misregarded favor called understanding. I have been immersed in this lifelong fantasy that what ever I give, I expect to get back in return, much like banking investment. And I am wrong. I have realized this not just recently, but for the longest time I can remember; I am only insistently stupid and selfish not to accept it. And I am sorry.
Yes, you’re right. You are only human. And that is the best excuse you can possibly give. And just as you are right, I am only human too. And this is the best excuse I can possibly offer. It is yours to welcome.
I have to block out thoughts of you so I don’t lose my head. They crawl in like a cockroach, leaving babies in my bed…
And the cockroaches have returned…
Trying hard to capture the moment, this morning I don’t know…
I think Jon Bon Jovi is misunderstood. This is exactly how I am feeling right now. The coldness in my room from an overworked air-conditioner seems to numb not only my skin but the intellectual in me as well. My usually active neurons are still curled up nicely in their neurotic beds somewhere inside my head. Surprisingly, I seem to be thinking with my fingers. Fancy that! My appendages have a mind of their own!
And you think you could expect much from this entry, didn’t you?
I missed blogging. And not to add more to this pining, a slim whale just summarized in his blog what bloggers actually (it’s rather more a matter of opinion) feel about blogging. Geez, I never thought I could use three derivative forms of the word “blog” in a sentence. Congratulations to me!
Seriously though. Much credit should be given to bloggers. They promote voyeurism in a world where nothing much can be seen. They are the ultimate exhibitionists in the pseudo-sexual world. It takes a lot of courage to actually bare one’s self for others to criticize and lambaste, as appropriately stated by that hormonally-imbued whale “I have stripped my clothes off in this blog, both figuratively and literally, to expose my soul. You have, so far, been seeing me in all my nakedness, excess hair and all. The sublime and the hideous have all been mixed up here like jello and mud, each enhancing the flavor of the other.” Whatever that shit means.
Or simply they are just over-excited self-centered good-for-nothing mothafuckers who think the world revolves around them, and that civilization is benefitting from their extensive narcissism.
I think I belong to the latter.
He walks with a purpose, in his sneakers, down the street.
He had many questions, like children often do.
There seems to be a serious lack of patience these days, so serious that it can be declared an epidemic. Blame it on the scorching 40 degree heat that’s cooking half of the people in the city. The other half (including me) is comfortably soaking their white rich asses inside air-conditioned rooms while intently awaiting footages of Paris Hilton’s prison cell on E! channel. Now, MY patience seemed to suddenly run low.
I’m sorry. There. I had been pervertedly impatient with you. I should, and I know I can, give you more than the usual dose of patience that you deserve. And that ever highly-misregarded favor called understanding. I have been immersed in this lifelong fantasy that what ever I give, I expect to get back in return, much like banking investment. And I am wrong. I have realized this not just recently, but for the longest time I can remember; I am only insistently stupid and selfish not to accept it. And I am sorry.
Yes, you’re right. You are only human. And that is the best excuse you can possibly give. And just as you are right, I am only human too. And this is the best excuse I can possibly offer. It is yours to welcome.
I have to block out thoughts of you so I don’t lose my head. They crawl in like a cockroach, leaving babies in my bed…
And the cockroaches have returned…
Friday, December 22, 2006
...red wine, gay friends and marriage proposals...
I just found out that a dear friend of mine is gay.
With boisterous laughter ricocheting all around her placidly conjured smile, this dear friend declared “Guess what? I’m gay!” A timid smile followed. And for a split second of an eternity I stood there wary of my reaction. The words that flew out of my mouth didn’t strike me as anywhere within the vicinity of polite.
“It’s written all over you tonight.” And that same meek smile of hers resurfaced. Or was it ever expunged at all?
Within the same breath of that nighttime air, only several minutes apart, another friend had confessed in lengthy detail of the phenomenon that is his life, including the romance of his marriage proposal to his then girlfriend and now fiancé, coupled with the turmoil that haunts both of them since.
And I blame all these on three intoxicating glasses of California red wine.
I did not, do not, will not mention any of your names, because I cannot do so. As I am sworn to secrecy, only your reactions to this prose shall ever fan the flames of curiosity of those who are curious, and might in the long run validate their long-standing suspicions about your identities.
It’s just that I cannot be expected to hold so much information with a tied tongue. And although I am keeping my lips sealed, as the stupid cliché goes, modern technology has enabled me to course my ramblings through with unbound fingers and a DSL connection. It is only a question of who is reading.
Keep the grapes fermenting. There will never be enough red wine on earth to untangle a tongue that holds a treacherous secret.
With boisterous laughter ricocheting all around her placidly conjured smile, this dear friend declared “Guess what? I’m gay!” A timid smile followed. And for a split second of an eternity I stood there wary of my reaction. The words that flew out of my mouth didn’t strike me as anywhere within the vicinity of polite.
“It’s written all over you tonight.” And that same meek smile of hers resurfaced. Or was it ever expunged at all?
Within the same breath of that nighttime air, only several minutes apart, another friend had confessed in lengthy detail of the phenomenon that is his life, including the romance of his marriage proposal to his then girlfriend and now fiancé, coupled with the turmoil that haunts both of them since.
And I blame all these on three intoxicating glasses of California red wine.
I did not, do not, will not mention any of your names, because I cannot do so. As I am sworn to secrecy, only your reactions to this prose shall ever fan the flames of curiosity of those who are curious, and might in the long run validate their long-standing suspicions about your identities.
It’s just that I cannot be expected to hold so much information with a tied tongue. And although I am keeping my lips sealed, as the stupid cliché goes, modern technology has enabled me to course my ramblings through with unbound fingers and a DSL connection. It is only a question of who is reading.
Keep the grapes fermenting. There will never be enough red wine on earth to untangle a tongue that holds a treacherous secret.
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