The letter ECH (H)

Life scares me. Drifting through overrated biblical gossip and talk show sermons, there’s not much difference between the two. One teaches you how to live to go to heaven with an amputated arm or a bloody side burn. One blabbers on how to make heaven a place on earth – and think about the afterlife when you’re dead. (Wink. Wink.)  It’s all a matter of perspective on looking at what’s right and what’s wrong… or am I simply corrupting my own mind with too new age thoughts that my supposed predefined set of values? We’re only feeding our minds on what we think will do us some change – or some constancy.

Maybe I’ll simply base my faith on flipping quarters or swallowing pennies and wondering where it went. And in the process of unlocking the mysteries of heaven, humankind shall make their own heaven, another Sodom and Gomorrah, another talk show in Cyberland. If that still does not solve my dilemma, just take me to the nearest mental institution. They’ve got enough white walls to set illusions of nirvana. They’ve got enough straitjackets to force me to metanoia.

Let’s bet we’ll all go back to where we came from.

But who knows, some little nincompoop might discover the sorcerer’s stone or the fountain of youth or the grass that grows on heaven’s little park and we’d all live happily ever after.

(H is for heaven, hell and hydro cortisone. And yes, dears, that’s how people say the letter H in the third world. ECH.)


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