And fixating on my abundant armpit sweat (via twitter) on Rapture Day!
Edit: For some reason I’ve been really uncomfortable about posting this blog ever since I posted it about twenty minutes ago. I was sitting there reading this really dense book called, Stones from the River and all I could think about was how I compared the leaving home, and quitting your job for The Rapture experience to the devastation of a natural disaster. I think this is wrong. Leaving your home and quitting your job for a calculated rapture that you truly believe in is based solely on religious choice is not the same as living through a natural disaster that has left your house in crumbles, and only left you with a few forks and one intact photograph. If you and your family agree that the Rapture is coming on May 21st and you leave your house in hopes of returning to a home in Heaven then that is nothing like having a tornado sweep through the wooden beams filled with all of your memories in an instant. It’s nothing like being buried under your own furniture, your own roof tiles, your own un-lit and broken chimney. That is a devastation. And as much as this Rapture not happening and choirs of angels not singing karaoke and floating you to heaven on their unicorn shaped clouds is nothing like the toll that tornado’s have taken on North Carolinians (and others) or the toll that tsunami’s have taken on the Japanese. I just feel bad about that.
I also feel like maybe I shouldn’t have picked on this Rapture belief. I feel like if I may have been born two-hundred years ago and raised as a quaker, or a protestant, or I lived through the Salem Witch Trials where women had to protect themselves by accusing the widows, and down-trodden of their “neighborhoods” maybe I really would have believed in the impulse of witches, or believed the soap-box preachers telling me doom was coming on a certain date if I didn’t get on my knees and repent. I mean you never know. We all have different belief systems and different ways of interpreting the religious texts and different ways of practicing how we interpret those texts.
So, here is the prologue to this blog. Please take what I say with a grain of salt.
Today with all my Rapture Day garage sale-stalking, and my cleaning out my car with its’ ferocious amount of hair (that I should probably sell for a wig or something, my golden strands of curls…obviously worth money right…you should definitely be able to pawn hair) I didn’t get around to creating anything exciting/elaborate/misleading/upsetting/tormenting or erotic for 30 Days of Public Poetry. But, I figure I can start whenever I want, right? I just have to stay committed once I pass go.
Commence commitment problems.
Today, the first Rapture Day I’ve been alive to experience and understand that a very rich man is somehow deciphering the Bible. Even though all of my college professors didn’t know the first place to start and had traveled all over God’s green earth to find Monastery libraries for their Biblical research, but this man believed (not once, but twice) that the world was ending according to his Biblical calculations. I do love a man with that much … umph. That much tenacity. That much creative imagination to actually get through the entire Bible like it’s a soap-opera of murder mysteries that at the end gives you quick enlightenment and a date of imposing death.
I think my favorite part of the entire thing is the full page advertisement in USA Today, we all know you have money now, along with your radio station, and your anti-gay propaganda pamphlets stating: “Gay Pride: Planned by God as a Sign of the End.” (Maybe now the Camping Believers will become truly enlightened and realize God created ALL CREATURES EQUAL including the gay, bisexual, and transgender ones – yes this is my political opinion, roaring it’s pretty little head).
And the fact that a facebook group has dedicated its’ time to post-rapture-strategic-looting, I would like to know the guy that created that one. He’s right, the people left in purgatory do need some sweet stereo equipment to pass time. We all know Nicki Minaj, Eminem, and of course, Kanye West will still be with us on earth after the Rapture…Kanye trying to figure out how he isn’t God.
My rapture day was all too exciting with the full fledge savaging of garage sales with my mother, and her little bag of goodies. I was wearing sweat pants in the Carolina’s 90 degree weather and saw a few old teachers with their children, a few too many cats with collars on (cats choke ya know, if they get attached to things…), and got a free fortune cookie out of the whole experience that told me, “tomorrow when you wake up, all your problems with have solutions.” Along with the fortune, I found two pennies in the street, so it’s safe to say I should buy a powerball ticket and play the odds. My horse “astrology” (I picked this one because I thought with all my universal luck lately, I should test the stars, I also picked “sway away” and “concealed identity” – I choose based on sad, back stories and those two got me), oh yea, this sentence was going somewhere…he came in 3rd at the Preakness (sp?). I could google it, but like all else today, I’m just too lazy and busy waiting on God and his army of angels that I can’t possibly google in this sort of state.
Otherwise, the Rapture didn’t come. God has left me here to rot inside my parent’s house, doing my own laundry, wearing my WWJD bracelet and still trying to look fabulous in parachute pants, which went out decades ago.
Don’t worry, I’m not completely senseless. I know a lot of people believed Harold Camping and have given up their homes and quit their jobs to follow his word and belief that the Rapture is upon us. I feel for these people. It’s almost like a natural disaster except the natural disaster is from another human being, which makes it maybe more wicked than them all.
What are all those people doing outside of Camping’s offices now? Are they just going to huddle into their tents, breathing together all of the oxygen of that field, and raising their hands in prayer, kneeling, dirtying their knees with the soft soil, yelling, “why, why, God, why?” I guess we don’t know. I almost wish they’d create another Woodstock or realize not to put all their beliefs in the power of one man instead of the power of one God.
This is the sadness of religion.
And the sadness of trust.
I guess with all my commitment and trust talk up there, and my blabbing, I just wanted to share this picture that I found on tumblr, of all places. That takes Brave New World which is one of the few books I dedicated a few hours in the dining room rocking chair too in high school, and blanks out most of the page to make it have a whole new meaning. I’m kind of obsessed with this marker on the page thing, I’m actually surprised I haven’t shared it before.
I am a writer, educator and genuine creative living on the coast of NC. Our house is built on sunshine with my husband BJ, dog named Tucker, and our two very sassy cats: Fromage and Jasper.