Saturday, February 26, 2011

What If . . .

My favorite question. It embraces infinity. Seeks it out, kisses it on the lips, nabs its nipples and makes wild passionate love to it. Imagination takes us to places reality might never envision. And reality is creative in the extreme. Limited only by your imagination. This is my first 'What if' posting. It won't be my last. I started my own personal'What if' in response to 'what ev'. Now, I share.

What if you really did what Jesus said? Could you? Is it even possible? Are the directions mutually consistent, or would you find yourself blocked by inconsistencies? Has anybody ever done it? Has anybody ever tried? If you know someone, please leave a comment. Leave a comment anyway. I know you're reading - 313 hits in a month isn't one over-zealous fan hoping for a new post.

What would it entail to follow that advise today? I am reminded of this today by a Facebook friend, in the throes and woes of birthing a sermon. His topic is that tantalizingly tortuous one: No man can serve two masters. One is God. One is Money. WWJD? FUCK MONEY and the horse it rode in on. Whoa. Really? You betcha, Sarah Palin. I'm not judging, mind you. I'm just sayin' - why worry about clothes when YOU are so much more than a lily in a field. I first read that line about ten years ago. My first thought? What about the stink weed? God made that too. What if I'm the stink weed? Or the wharf rat? Those are also of God. Sure, lilies are nice and pretty, but lots in God's creation isn't. Does God's little stink weed serve his purpose as much as God's lily?

Of course it does. And it lives longer too. People pick the lily, stick it in a vase and it dies forlorn, uncopulated by the honey bee of love. The stink weed grows on, sucked and fucked by the honeybees, and lots of other bugs and hummingbirds and it grows and thrives. The prissy, sissy, delicate, needy lily dies childless. For me, I'll be the stink weed. The wharf rat eats and mates and eats some more, a thriving species. God loves it well, I'm certain.

And money? I'll have to get with you on that one next time. I think way too much about money. I don't worry about what I'll eat - I have food stamps, thank you, I eat quite well. And I do mean thank you. Very much.

I don't worry about home - I live in a lovely home and am able toil some in order to pay what my dear friend considers valuable consideration in return. It's a beautiful home, in a beautiful setting, and yet, the most valuable to me is the friend who allows me to share in it. Frankly, just the friendship alone in a tent in a desert would still be invaluable. She reminds me everyday that I just can't do it alone. And that I am not alone.

I don't worry about clothes. I have plenty. They don't cost much. I can look good for little.

But money? I still worry. Car insurance doesn't pay itself and the cost of gas keeps going up. Baby needs a new set of tires. A tuneup might prevent future bills and I'm pretty sure it's time for brakes. Don't even ask me how old the muffler is.

I no longer need money for tobacco addiction. I've virtually given up alcohol. So more and more, I require less and less. But when you need it, there's nothing like it. I think most people read those words "you can't serve both God and Money" and just assumes, God didn't really mean for us to walk away from our jobs, to not toil, to not reap, to not store for the future, to not worry about tomorrow, because today has enough worry in it. Not really. God feeds the birds, but they have to wake up in the morning and stick their beaks in the ground to pull out those worms. It's a good point, but surely God wasn't being literal, was she?

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Be Happy

Sounds easy enough. Short. Sweet. To the point. Why am I Not? Am I not? What gets in the way? What compels it? I find I must examine these issues periodically in order to stay on the straight and narrow path of happy.

Once upon a time, hanging out with friends, drinking copious amounts of intoxicating beverages and ingesting other intoxicants made me feel happy. On occasion, it still does. I learned somewhere along the line that moderation leads to more consistent happy than over indulgence in anything, including restraint. I also know that over indulgence in self restraint often leads to not happy. Balance. It's all about balance. What once made me happy fails me now. Parties, rock concerts, pounding it out full blast in the fast lane now make me decidedly not happy.

Sitting in the sun is happy. Laughter, of course is happy. Dogs, friends, food, shelter, transportation - all happy. Healthcare. Well, I don't like going to the doctor, but healthy is happy. Not healthy is not happy. Not smoking is both happy and not happy - the result is happier in the long run than otherwise. Money makes me happy. It does. I hate to admit it, but knowing the car insurance the government forces me to buy is paid for makes me happy. I have to bust it sometimes to make that payment, but I seem to make it. It shows up somehow. It's touch and go more often than not and the stress of worrying certainly interferes with happy.

Recent studies show that money does buy happiness, up to a point. Depending on your needs and wants and number of dependents, anywhere from $20,000 to $50,000 will make most people happy. That amount will pay the basic bills and provide a sense of security that allows happy to exist. Some people I'm sure could use less. I know others (with college aged and/or special needs kids or parents) could use more. Insurance companies are based on the premise that the group pays into the pool and takes out as needed. Many will need more, but more will (hopefully) need less. It's communism in its most basic form. Demanding that capitalist for-profit corporations are the only ones who should engage in communism is the ultimate irony. Oh, except for the part where they don't pay for the sick, they cut them off, leave them to die. So, now why was it we thought communism was so bad?