Fashionista and Boots Shop Petco

July 1, 2015 - One Response

 

I ‘cook’ breakfast for Ari, he’s 99 and his teeth don’t chomp as well as they used to. Warm water, crumpled oat alfalfa, salt, carrots, bran and molasses snuggle tastefully  in a pail. Old age has a price, but I think it’s worth  it.  He does too.  Nose deep in the bucket–chomping contentedly– his ears peek out. He started out 45 to 55 million years ago–Eohippus–a fifty pound critter,  18 inches high at the shoulders, with 4 toes on the front feet and three toes on the hind feet. He’s come a long way, baby.

He has fresh water, in the trough, garnished swimmingly with tiny mosquito eaters.

Duke ruffles blue and gold, munches macaw food, peanuts, raisins,  bananas and cookie crumbs. Everybody here loves cookies. We’re cookie monsters. He spread his wings as I give him a wispy shower at the same time I hose down potted plants in the courtyard.

Carefully hanging the pitchfork on a hook, I wipe my hands off on my pants. Sweaty, and smelling like a well-groomed horse in a well- maintained barn, I brush fresh straw off the seat of my sweats. The combination of fresh straw, horsey pooh, and horse is irresistible. I flicker the broom, whisker the floor, then set this tool in its stand and head for the people end of the residence.

My gown up puppy, Boots, and the growing up  kittens, Reba and Rosa, breakfast on dog and cat food  with the grown up–me–who sips freshly brewed Kauai coffee.  I scatter some organic chicken food to my feral hen in her tiny abode anchored down to defy hurricane winds. She often lays a free-range egg a week. She cackles sweetly. Today, I’m honored with an egg. Her eggs are petite, light pink in color, with yolks so high and golden they poke the eye.

Tossing my sweats in the hamper, I fall daintily into my sunken tub. When I arise, I’m Venus rising from the waves. I towel quickly as the image in the mirror denies the claim. At my dressing table, I install my face and coif my hair. Remember the Houston lady who has a three-story wardrobe with a champagne bar? Well. I have a one story wardrobe with a champagne bucket and two champagne flutes from a thrift store.

Selecting my wardrobe for the day, this fashionista shoves both feet into a  pair of sparkly red shoes, very Wizard of Oz, and  with Bootsy–groomed- to- perfection– depart for Petco in Lihue. The greatest animal department store in the whole wide world. Inside is  breathtaking. Both Boots and I gasp. Wide aisles filled with stuff. Boots selects a box of gourmet canines biscuits and a bottle of  shampoo. I had to get her out of there. It was a struggle.

At the counter, a couple dealt with a kid and a dog in  a cart fighting over a doggie toy.

Go.  Bring money. Leave animals home. They’re welcome, but they’re kids in a candy store. And, please, managers, plant more greenery.

 

 

 

 

 

Slavery in America

June 22, 2015 - One Response

In a recent Forum letter, a frequent  writer wrote,  “…the Confederate flag flying high over the state Capitol of Charleston, South Carolina…” And quoted a legislature  endorsed  resolution about white supremacy. The writer commented, “Makes you proud to call yourself an American, doesn’t it?”

No. But it makes me proud to be a citizen of the state of Hawaii.

According to a Wikipedia demographic on South Carolina, 93% of its citizens are Christian. Perhaps they were just quoting the Bible? For an example…

“When a man sells his daughter as a slave, she will not be freed at the end of six years as the men are. If she does not please the man who bought her, he may allow her to be bought back again. But he is not allowed to sell her to foreigners, since he is the one who broke the contract with her. And if the slave girl’s owner arranges for her to marry his son, he may no longer treat her as a slave girl, but he must treat her as his daughter. If he himself marries her and then takes another wife, he may not reduce her food or clothing or fail to sleep with her as his wife. If he fails in any of these three ways, she may leave as a free woman without making any payment.” Exodus 21:7-11

“When a man strikes his male or female slave with a rod so hard that the slave dies under his hand, he shall be punished. If, however, the slave survives for a day or two, he is not to be punished, since the slave is his own property.” (Exodus 21:20-21 NAB)

These are Biblical values? Seems a man can buy as many sex slaves as he wants.

In the most recent Voice of Reason journal of Americans for Religious Liberty, Edd Doerr writes Is the Wall Crumbling? Scary! An American theocracy? Oh, my goodness! My beloved editor, the good Jewainian, and my favorite Hebrew black dog, Obama, and I could end up in the same pot. Or shower. Bring your own soap.

All kidding aside, I think all of us, left sane and even halfway intelligent, need to take these religious lunatics seriously.

We had, for a while, a thriving bigoted, morally foul-mouthed,vicious, cut throat, obsessive fundamentalist gang of thugs who quoted the Bible, Chapter and Verse. Not the goodie-goodie-two-shoes passages that everyone loves to quote, but the extreme nasties. Including rape, sodomy and bashing baby’s head against the rocks.

If there are any left on Kauai–goodness forbid–may they hurry back to wherever they came from. Soonest.

Stay out of Hawaii, guys–they’re always men, have you noticed? Too many non Christians–of any, all, or no religious persuasion–carry big sticks. Poisoned pens? You betcha.

A personal aside, I was labeled a ‘spawn of satan’, a 666, and sent to hell so often I was a prized and welcome resident. All the good guys are in hell, you know. They’ve got it air-conditioned, and everybody is sitting around playing strip poker with Marilyn Monroe.

 

 

 

 

Daydreams and the Perfect Moment

June 10, 2015 - One Response

There should be bright little signs we can drape around our necks that say: DO NOT DISTURB DAYDREAMER AT WORK…

…OR PLAY. Careful here. There are those who think play is a thing we do Sunday at the beach, or the golf course, or trotting down a bridle path to never-never.

Daydreams  and daydreamer are  special things. They should go hand- in- hand with the perfect moment. Don’t you think?

Daydreams are personal. The perfect personal fascinating moment only we can know. Only we can imagine. They are ours to own and not to share. They can be filled with love and laughter, scents and soft caresses, and maybe the sensational taste of whatever we think tastes sensational. We can put music to that French Cherry pie and dance with it. Or  fly with  a  red royal poinciana that sings like a white-rumped shama and flits through a bamboo grove at Smith’s Tropical Paradise.

Imagine!

You can toss creations like this  around  light as whistles in a breeze. Anywhere. Any time. Savor them. Soak them up like bubbles in a fragrant bubble bath and never let them  go. Until someone gives you a poke in the a** and slams you with a  get back to work blast of hot air. But quick! You can turn this doddering horror into mite on a mouse that scurries and scuttles asunder. Send it to perdition. Crumple it like bits of  over-salted chippys.

Tape and file your perfect daydream moment on a disc in your mind you can call up at any moment. Be there now.

Instantly.

You don’t need an iPod or a cell phone or a Royal Royce or Lear to get you there. And it didn’t cost you nothin’. Drives the doddering horrors to distractions.

You don’t need a Carnival Cruise  that can turn into something very other- than- perfect at any given moment.

You don’t need a lover or a friend or a church or club group. All you need is you, love. All you need is you.

Studies indicate the average person spends eight hours a day daydreaming.

Studies also state the daydreamer looks like a drooling, slack- lipped rutabagas on Dramamine.

Ha!!

Doddering horrors have had imagination and creativity punched out of them. Long ago they lost it. They see dollar signs. They see expensive silk- lined coffins standing stiffly still as death in dim-lit rooms draped in long black veils. They hear voices like rusty fog horns. Songs that shudder the ear and drown in the silence.

A quote, with small changes, I blank plagiarism. “The scientific community continues to unlock these and other mysteries behind daydreams. A recent discovery pointed to a negative correlation with technology, finding the constant presence of screens and devices in our lives to be robbing our weary brains of restful daydream moments, resulting in a tragic drop in imaginary revelry for  all.”

I’m goin’ back to Smith’s Tropical Paradise and sit on a bench beneath a tree. See you there.

 

 

 

 

WILD HURRICANES I HAVE KNOWN

June 2, 2015 - Leave a Response

I’ve weathered four.  My husband and I escaped the ravages of Typhoon Jean, dodging caribou and ballistic teak logs the size of a Kauai bus shooting by us in a Philippine Airline jet taking off from a beach in Aparri, a primitive village in the province of Cagayan, Luzon-one bar, one outdoor movie, one hotel- on the banks of the South China Sea.  Aparri survived. Today it’s a first class municipality.

We made the fastest flight- ever- back to Manila that day. Jean was the biggest typhoon of the season.

A typhoon is a hurricane that swirls and whirls and rips around in another neighborhood.

The Aparri memory is a cute storyI tell often.

But hurricanes are not cute. No one can ever say ‘been there, done that’ or ‘seen one seen ’em all’ . Platitudes don’t apply. Each storm’s different. They’ve personalities all their own, and always a very human side.

In 1970 we were in Mississippi a year after Hurricane Camille demolished Gulfport and were amazed at the mess. A tug boat still  balanced  on its keel in the middle of a forest. It looked as though it’d just been planted. Along millionaire’s row, all a two story mansion had to show for itself were water pipes standing upright indicating bathrooms on a vanished second floor.

Hurricane Iwa-November 22, 1982-sent our beloved boat, Warpath in Kukuiula Harbor, over the top of a swimming pool and broke her back. She was headed for safe port in the red barn across the street.  We’d built the barn for $900.00. All by myself I tar- papered the roof. Not a corner  lifted. On Kauai’s millionaire’s row, it looked as though a war had gone through.

I’d spent a terrifying night in the barn with my horses in the lava rock house up the Alexander Dam Road. All I was was the howl of that wind

Bill-who was needed at the power plant in Wainiha- and I, coming home that  night, had a most incredible surprise in store for us.. On the north shore at Tahiti Nui, Louise Marston  prepared-on the beach-a Thanksgiving dinner to end all Thanksgiving dinners-the works-to those who could find their way to her open door. A generous, marvelous, wonderful woman, I miss her. We sat at a savory table with locals, hippies, surfers, tourists from everywhere, survivors, and indulged. I’ve never felt so thankful. I didn’t say grace but I thought it.

Back home, we’d just put the roof on our new house. Not a shingle lifted.

September 6, 1992, Iniki- the strongest storm to hit Hawaii-barreled through. I was alone. I spent the night here.  Three horses locked in stalls. Me and the dogs and cats hunkered down in my old Buick. I had carrots for the horses, nibbles for the dog and cats, and a bottle of wine for me. Before the night was over, the horses were eating dog food while the dogs and cats munched carrots. I didn’t share the wine.

My experienced advice during hurricane season? Be prepared.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE BEST AND THE BRIGHTEST

May 27, 2015 - One Response

It was November 8, 1932. FDR was elected President. I campaigned for him in front of the Fire Station-the only Fire Station in town-in new black Mary Janes, with white socks and a pretty new dress my mother made for the occasion. I was 2. “Wote for Wosevelt” I lisped and shook my curls. I’m a born and bred dyed- in- the- wool Democrat. Over the years- and over the radio- my father and I listened to the Fire Side Chats. These were depression years.  I was impressed with “. . . the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” I was little and scared. My father said, I remember, “Everyone’s afraid, it’s how you handle fear that matters.”

My father and I listened to FDR’s eloquence all through the 30’s.  I remember one vividly. On Sunday. Sept. 6, 1936, he spoke  about Drought Conditions. I loved his voice. Afterwards I asked my father, “How can he know so much? He’s just one man,” and my father said, ” He’s advised by the best and brightest. You can be, too. That’s what books are for.”

My father gave me Bertrand Russell’s An Essay on the Foundation of Geometry- of which I understood nothing-but when a course in Geometry was offered I ate it up. I loved Geometry. I also liked, “Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom.” Russell was the first non-believer I encountered. He also said, “Beware the man who cannot say it simply.”

It’s 2015. Recently I received a letter from someone I admire very much.  He lives on Kauai. Not a politician. Not a celebrity. A great human being. This person asked me not to reveal his name but he did send me this, AMIDA’S GOLDEN CHAIN OF LOVE… We are all links in Buddha’s chain of love. Keep your link bright and strong. Try to be kind and gentle to every living thing and protect they who are weaker than yourself. Think pure and beautiful thoughts…make every link in Amida’s Chain of Love bright so we may we all attain perfect peace…. I shortened the piece. Five hundred words, remember? My friend and his philosophy are surely the best and brightest. Who’s going to argue with Buddha?

Another incredible human being, Steve Saylor, a visitor on Kauai-with a very different point of view- is  writer and star, educator and entertainer, of  several  brilliant videos. I met Steve’s mother, Joellen at a Quaker Meeting at my house and she remembered me. His work and advice is different from the Buddha’s. Look for Steve Saylor: Eulogy: the death of Monsanto.

These two  found me.  So different. So important to my life and style today. They came along, wired back- to- back, and filled a need. Just as FDR, my father, and Russell did. And do. Read and watch a variety of varieties and be best and brightest, too. Maybe human kind can make it.

DEBATE

May 19, 2015 - One Response

It’s a term and a device we  seem to have forgotten. Today we argue. Call each other names.  Throw things.  Indulge in verbal fisticuffs. It’s a knock- down- drag- out with the loser losing his reputation in the community and all the ships at sea.

It’s crazy.

There’s nothing more fun than a discussion. The discussion site here in TGI Forum is a home-grown  free- for- all only a few brave ‘souls’-I use the term loosely, please don’t start a fight, yet-dare to imbibe. I love it. I’m an active participant. Been doing it for years. Still here. Some folks say I have the ‘skin of an alligator’. I respond, “You’ve taken a shot at me with every weapon in your arsenal and missed with every shot.”  There are those who could argue with me. Care to try?

We have so many conflicting issues-I wish only to tap into Kauai and it’s umpteen zillion problems-billionaire land holders vs peasants, like you and me-infrastructure,  traffic jams, tourist problems, dairies, GMOs, over- development, taxes, super ferries, jobless, homeless. EEEKKK.

So, what I’m suggesting: The Forum should declare, a once- a- week debate. For an example, the best voice anti-GMO–Gary Hooser , of course–vs the best voice pro. Topic: Are vast acres of GMO corn good for Kauai? Give each side five hundred words on the Forum, on the same day, and give it their best shot. Be brief. Be truthful. Be knowledgeable. Write and be read. And then a vote. From the people.

Everybody loves the Forum. It’s the favorite page for many of us. I think a newspaper is the heart of the community. I think-once again I use the term loosely-the Forum is the soul.  Care to argue?

I love to argue. Lucky you. Lucky, because if there were no paper and ink you’d all go deaf and I’d wear out a soap box a week. I doubt anyone will disagree with that.

I think of the way we seem to do it:  people gather together, carry signs and protest. Protest is good. As American as Apple pie and mother. As Kauaian as a weekend family picnic on a sunny beach-which beats Apple pie and mother hands down. Care to argue?

You know what I picture-this would be a visual community center debate-someone who’s smoked all his life and is dying from cancer- debating the issue, Is Smoking Good for Your Health, with a healthy robust non smoker. Would that be cheating? Anyone care to argue?

Another awful thing we do is haul in a bunch of high muckity- mucks to sit on a stage in an  auditorium and listen to us voice our opinions. Pro or con. Sometimes they even serve cookies and juice. Do they listen? Do they care? I don’t think so. They sit upstage, these highfaluters, and nod off. Sometimes, as a speaker, you look up and think they’re going to fall off their chairs. Or call a cop.

Care to argue? Five hundred words or less…

 

 

AN ISLAND THAT PRAYS TOGETHER…

May 5, 2015 - Leave a Response

Headlines. The Garden Island newspaper, Monday May 4. My goodness. “Their National Day of Prayer signifies unity across people in the United States of America and it signifies a special day, no matter what faith group you belong to…” Jeffrey Pears, chairman of the Interfaith Roundtable of Kauai said. “It crosses all barriers, all faith groups, and brings all of us together…”

Sucn a beautiful thought. I love Jeffrey. I’ve laughed with him on many occasions. I love to laugh. We share the idea  there’s little more healing than a really good gaffaw. We met last at a large meeting of the Jewish community. I can’t remember when I’ve felt so happy and at home in a crowded room. The best and the brightest on Kauai, in my estimation, were there. We laughed. We listened. We learned. We also snacked. But nobody prayed.

As I read through the TGI article I note there are two organization. Jeffrey’s IRK and KIM-Kauai Island Ministries- organized by Niles Kageyama, who has invited all Christian churches across the island to join their event with different pastors, John Zimmerman of Lihue Missionary Church and Pastor Larry Matsuwaki from Faith Christian Fellowship. They share the same theme “Hear Our Cry” and meet at the same place, on the same day, Thursday, May 7, at the Civic Center Rotunda in Lihue. IRK goes first from 9 to 11 A.M. KIM  takes second billing, 11:30 to 12:30PM.

“No Buddhists, no Zoroasters, no Islamists, no Hindus…” My friend Monroe Richmasn, reminds us, are invited to join IRK.

Debra Valentina, who leads the Center for Spiritual Living, and will attend the IRK meeting, says, “It doesn’t matter to me that there’s two.”

Seems odd to me, but that’s the way the wafer crumples.

Also, we’re told, the National Day of Prayer began in 1775. My search revealed:

The National Day of Prayer is an annual observance held on the first Thursday of May, inviting people of all faiths to pray for the nation. It was created in 1952 by a joint resolution of the United States Congress, and signed into law by President Harry S. Truman.  A privately funded organization, whose purpose is to encourage participation on the National Day of Prayer, exists to communicate with every individual the need for personal repentance and prayer, to create appropriate materials, and to mobilize the Christian community to intercede for America’s leaders and its families. They represents a Judeo Christian expression of the national observance, based on our understanding that this country was birthed in prayer and in reverence for the God of the Bible.

I’m reminded of a story about a  visitor to California who had the misfortune to experience an earthquake. “I’m scared,” she cried. Her friend, who’d taken shelters in a door way, hollered, “I’m from California. We always get under a door way.” “I’m from New jersey,” cried the scared lady,  “where do I go?”

As a devout non believer-more agnostic than atheistic, I mean, I don’t know- who doesn’t go to church, doesn’t pray, ask, “Where do I go?”

 

THE FUN OF BEING 84

April 25, 2015 - One Response

It’s been a busy morning. Fed my beloved old horse, Aristotle. I prepare him a warm mash, salt, carrots, bran and molasses. He loves it. My handsome movie star vet, Scott Sims, says horses don’t have a sense of taste. I reply, “Well don’t tell Ari, he hasn’t read that part of the book.” Since I was five, I’ve bribed horses with sugar cubes. Amazing what you can get a horse to do with some sugar cubes in your pocket.

I was taught, as a little girl, a good horse soldier feeds his horse first.

My first riding instructor was General Cress- the Tiger of Luzon-a total pussy cat. He said I was a natural, which pleased my father. His daughter, Cornelia Van Ness Cress, was a brilliant, patient teacher. A lesbian I learned from a gossipy friend of my mother’s. It made no- never- mind to me. I always got to ride her dressage horse, Indian, on foggy wet morning jaunts through the Mills College Campus. She said I wasn’t a ‘lemon drop’ because I was one of the few kids who showed up for lessons on a rainy day. I loved the fog. Still do. Even voggy fog on Kauai. I love the smell of sulfur dioxide in the morning.

Next, two growing up kittens-Reba and Rosa-and my grown up puppy-Boots- get their fare. Today, Duke, the noisy Macaw, who greets me every morning with a cheerful “Hi”,  got fresh water, a  bowl of  parrot food- raisins, peanuts, a crumpled cookie, he has a decided sweet tooth-and  two slices of bananas.

Then I turn a feral hen, and the chick she’s trying to raise, loose to wander and scratch their way into a long day’s journey into night.  Mama’s teaching baby to eat worms and insects and other goodies found in every pile of fallen leaves. Every day her baby gets smarter and bigger. Fluffier, too. This morning she’s teaching it  to fly. She jumped up on a raised bench and clucked, “Come on sweetheart, try your wings.” Today it did. I don’t know if it’s a boy chicken or a girl chicken, but it’s sure cute and, I think, precocious.

Then it’s my turn. A cup of coffee-organic, no GMOs-and half a slice of croissant. No butter. It’s drippy and voggy out and I love watching yellow leaves swing and sway and waft their way to earth.

At 84 ripe I love looking back. There’s a lot to look back on. I love being here.  There’s a lot of here. And I love looking forward.

I love learning. The mother hen is teaching me as well as her baby.

I love time. I love space. We worked hard, my husband and I, to acquire the space. My jungle, which I love. The time, which I got but could not share with him. I love the time I have now to think about our life together. I love to wonder if he would approve. He’d be happy  I’m having fun.

 

 

 

 

The Market Place

April 21, 2015 - 2 Responses

It’s a huge market place. Religion is big business in America.

Why did I choose this aspect of religion as the first to pursue? Well, I live in America. I pay taxes. I’m not religious. I don’t go to church. I don’t pray. I accept no gifts-food, housing or otherwise- from either the church or the state. I’ve discovered that, while churches often feed the poor, there is a price-one’s soul, if there is such a thing-and the food is usually awful.  Little concern about food value. Canned stuff and the cheapest quality,  often donated and usually offered on Holidays and in community centers, large feeding stations-table after table after table- for anyone who  might get there, and served up by sanctimonious  volunteers.

Also,  churches have a habit of  taking care of their own. I live in a Mormon rich community-meaning there are a lot of them-and after Iniki an outsider, a neighbor, was  not made welcome at their tables. At least I wasn’t. I went seeking a water supply for my animals and, in the process, was in several kitchens with gas stoves producing quantities of aromatic coffee and bacon and eggs of which  I was not offered a cup or invited to share  or even helped with the original request as to where to find water.

The Mormon Church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, is the fourth richest religion in the country. At the turn of the 21st century, its assets were estimated to be over $30 billion dollars. You’d think then, wouldn’t you, believers might share a cup of coffee with a neighbor in need?

But the biggest Financial Power on earth is, of course, the Catholic Church.

The Vatican has large investments in the Morgan bank, The Chase-Manhatten Bank, the First National Bank in New York, the Bankers Trust Company in America. It owns billions of shares in Gulf Oil, Shell, General Motors, Bethlehem Steel, General Electric, International Business Machines, TWA and more. It probably ranks second only to the US in total purchase. It’s the biggest corporation in America. Their assets and real estate holdings exceed those of Standard Oil, AT&T and U,S. Steel combined.  It’s treasury of gold is worth several billion dollars. It is the biggest financial power, wealth accumulator and property owner in existence. Its investments control the Federal Reserve. The pope,  as the ruler, is the richest individual of the twentieth century.

With this vast sum of money it could create sustainable programs to end famine on earth. They have the power to oppose wars. They have the power to create an Eco-friendly planet. Why don’t they? Well, money is power and wars make the rich richer and hungry people are good religious fodder.

Further in America they own about $50 Billion in visible property holdings and about $507 Billion in hidden property holdings. Yet they have a strategy of deliberately sacrificing key services to the most disadvantage and poor of western communities.

To be continued

 

 

BELIEF

April 8, 2015 - One Response

Belief (bi-lef’) Something believed or accepted as true, especially a tenet or body of tenets accepted by a group. According to some, the more people who believe something the more likely it is to be true. In other words, if everybody in the world-but thee and me- believed the moon was made of green cheese, the moon would be made of green cheese.

Believe (bi-liv’)  on the other hand is a verb. To have firm faith, especially religious faith.

Essentially, I think, a belief is something that isn’t true. If it were true, it wouldn’t be a belief. One doesn’t believe 2+2=4. One knows 2+2=4. One doesn’t believe the sun rises in the East and sets in the West. It does.

A religious belief, I think, is one of the most pernicious mind sets anyone can have. No child is born with a religious belief, it is imposed on him.  A kid is taught the religious belief he learns at his mother’s knees is the true belief. The only belief. Everything else is false. This belief is enforced by a father figure, a congregation, a speaker for the congregation-priest, pastor, minister, whoever-and immediately a conflict is engrained. Intolerance is imposed. Superiority or inferiority. Further,  religious beliefs are always laced with myths- strange ideas and stories- no one not indoctrinated at an early age could possibly believe. Virgin births, talking snakes, original sin, a superior being- today almost always a father figure- reigning supreme, judgmental, critical, authoritarian. Also, in the Christian religion, there is a book, the Bible-the New Testament, the Old Testament-the words in which, according to many who wield power, are absolute truths. Command and obey.

“Thou shalt not consent unto him, nor hearken unto him, neither shall thine eyes pity him, neither shall thou spare, neither shall thou conceal him: But thou shall surely kill him; thine hand shall be first upon him to put him to death and afterwards the hand of all the people.” (Deuteronomy 13:8-9)

These words  justify, to a fundamentalist believer, the killing of friends or family simply because they fail to change their beliefs.

Modern day Christians, introduced to Jesus Christ, a peaceful, loving man of god, son of god, was sent  to earth to die for our sins and one is seduced into this belief system by the offer of peace and love. However, Jesus isn’t god. He’s the son of god. Which god? Zeus? No. The god of the Old Testament.  The god who spoke the words of Deuteronomy 13:8-9 and this god is hauled out anytime the leader of the group finds an enemy he chooses to kill.

Also, Jesus had a thing against those who make his Father’s house a house of merchandise.

Someone should clue him in. Today religion in America is Big Business. It’s all about money.

There are four gods. The distant god. The benevolent god. The critical god and the authoritarian god.

Many of us would worship a benevolent god if we could find one.

To be be continued….

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