I hope that everyone meets someone weird enough to really fall in love with them.
That’s what it takes, right?
Someone who is willing to just be with you for the rest of their life starting from now. So, if you’re a young person, someone who is willing to watch you go from all elastic and youthful with stretchy yoga pants and sharp tattoos to bowed under the weight of 90 years with osteoporosis and incontinence. Yeah, that person has to be nuts and I hope you meet them soon.
I think a LOT about love which is strange because most of my tastes run to the more exotic. I prefer weird music, unusual art and strange architecture, so it surprises me that I would fry my brain on something so pedestrian. And after many years of trying to understand it, my only conclusions are it only shows up when you are ready, no one deserves it and the people who love us are weird.
If I tell you any more, I’ll ruin it. So go figure it out on your own.
When I was a kid, I often fantasized about going back in time to save Jesus from the crucifixion. My plan involved my friends (which Jesus already had), dirt-bikes, .22 caliber rifles and walkie-talkies (which Jesus did not have) to thwart the Romans and and save the King of the Jews from his painful death on the cross.
I think that means I have the best Messiah complex ever. I wanted to be the savior for “THE MESSIAH.” Think of the accolades: Handel’s “Messiah” would have just been a warm up for Handel’s “Paul: The Kid Who Saved Jesus.” Dirtbikes and pictures of me and Jesus would hang in churches instead of those gory crucifixes. I might have even had a chance with Mary Magdalene as she always sounded kinda hot. My plan was put on the permanent back burner by not having a dirt bike or a time machine…or friends. Every year before Easter, Jesus died and my plan faded like the lights of the Black Friday evening services, and I left the church feeling heavy. “Were you there when they crucified my lord?” sang Mrs. Bell in her best Mahalia Jackson imitation. “No, damnit, I wasn’t. But if I was, things woulda been a LOT different.”
Now that I am big enough to buy my own dirtbike (I just choose not to), I find myself able to help the world in more practical ways. But I find that marginalized populations don’t always appreciate the level of engagement that white males like myself try to wield. Take for example the following meme:
When I first saw this, I was kinda put off. I’m a proud sibling and uncle of actual LESBIANS, I have friends who are GAY and I’ve even DJ’d at drag shows. My Messiah Complex throbs like a big ol’ red sore on my lip. However, I must remember that as a Cis Gendered Straight White Protestant Male who has the money for a dirt bike but chooses not to get one, this is not my community. Neither is Black Lives Matter or women or pretty much anyone aside from the aforementioned White Males. I can help, but I must not insert myself into their story because I’m not part of the community. This is not my struggle.
To avoid those pesky Messiah outbreaks, I explain it to myself this way:
My family and a “minority” family enter a restaurant at the same time. We are seated simultaneously, and one waiter is assigned to both of our tables. MY family’s table is provided excellent service while the minority table is lacking water and menus and service is slow. On their behalf, I complain to the waiter who eventually steps up his game and gets the minority table served. The fantasy continues where the minority family returns the next night and receives excellent service and discounts based on that waiter’s desire to serve them equally. The fantasy is only fulfilled when the minority customers are served based on their own power and not because I complained.
Our world is lousy with good intentions that have these “instant karma” riders bundled inside them. Everyone wants to punch a Nazi to show how anti-fascist they are. We plaster our social media with dank memes that show our support and raise awareness, and the streets are alive with benefit concerts. Our involvement in these Karmic Resume’ stuffers feel good to us as Privileged White Males. However, the long term goal has nothing to do with us. Non-white-male populations are simply earning their power. They’re not taking it from us and they are not asking us to give it to them. They simply need support and do not need to be saved. And I’m sure even Jesus would agree that an ascension without a messy crucifixion is good for everyone.
Image by Harry Bliss…who really may not even want this cartoon here. But I think it fits and I can’t draw.
Once upon a time, there was this moon. And she was feeling poorly one day when she looked down and saw this golden retriever (dog) looking up at her and wagging his tail.
“Why would you stare at me, dog?” she asked the dog. “I’m just a rock that is cold and alone and will eventually hide my face from you.” The dog simply replied, “Arf.” and began to scratch his ear.
And y’know how sometimes a dog will scratch his ear vigorously and then slow down like he’s about to say something. Well he did that and then said, “I just think you’re beautiful and interesting. Like earlier, you were over there in the trees. Now you’re way up there above the power lines. That’s pretty cool. I can’t do that.”
“That’s just your perception.” she heaved, for she knew that his perception was inaccurate and was dictated by her position in the sky which was relative to the angle of his position on the globe and that that would change as the earth rotated and as she moved in her own orbit.
“No,” insisted the dog for he knew that her perception was inaccurate because she could not see herself and he could see her because of his position on the globe.. “You are important to me. One day, you went away and I MISSED you. And I was sad. But then in a few days, you came back.” his tail thumped on the ground twice.
“Thank you.” she pretended to concede. “So, you don’t mind when I go hide?”
“Naw, it’s how you have to do things. Besides, you’re here now. Do you mind that I poop in the yard?”
“I don’t think I want to talk about that, dog.” she replied.
“I’m really GOOD at it!”
“Can we change the subject?”
“Okay.” said the dog and they both regarded one another for a moment silently.
The golden retriever’s person stepped into the doorway.
“Hey, moon. I have to go in now. I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” he asked with his head tilted a bit.
“Yes, dog. I’m waxing gibbous so I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Gibbous. That’s a funny word.” and the dog went inside and curled in front of the oven where the tiles were warm and it smelled like people food.
The golden retriever rested his chin on the floor and dozed. When he fell asleep, he dreamt of the time before he was a puppy…the time when he was the moon.
for spike, seaweed, bubba and everyone else who doesn’t get to be a dog today.