Coffee coloured dreams
The addled world of the adults, where real time does not count.
There is nothing on the other side, absolutely nothing, as empty as a dog’s head, as barren and bleak as the horizon and if you are not there then I am not “on the other side”. When you die you go nowhere. All the “how can I become nothing when I cannot conceive of the thing that is nothing” is just a mess of thinking. A big mangled, disjointed mess like a car crash. Life is a car crash waiting to happen to everyone, over and over again. We are all in a big line, the difficulty is you don’t quite know where you are in the line and that can be problematic. You don’t know where you are going or if at any moment some drunk is about to rear end you and conclude the whole grimy thing.
You are dreaming of reheating your cold coffee in the microwave, but the cup has a gold rim. If you put it in the microwave will arc and spark spectacularly. So how to reheat that nice cup of coffee? Add some boiling water? (That works but it waters the coffee down and could spoil the taste – risky) Put it in another cup and microwave it? (That would dirty a second cup and that would annoy you so much that you wouldn’t enjoy the reheated cup). Make a fresh cup? (A waste when there is a perfectly good cup sitting there, undrunk and cold, no you can’t face that idea either). Drink it cold? (Hmmm, this has been tried before and it does not really work, cold coffee is unpleasant, but there would be no waste and that is a big plus point). Leave it alone? (Ignore the coffee, let it sit on the table all day, it may get spilled, some one else may clear it away, lots of odd possibilities). Then you realise that as you thought of all these things you’ve thoughtlessly drunk the whole cup of cold coffee. Next time don’t use the gold rimmed cup, despite the fact that it is your favourite.
Footballs keep hitting you in the face; they come from nowhere like round bolts of lightning, hard and leathery. They strike your cheeks making them beetroot red, or the bridge of your nose forcing wet strings of tears. Hard on your left ear until it truly feels like a battered cauliflower, then with a stinging certainty on your right ear, flattening it and making your inner ear drone and throb. Now the back of your head, more footballs are raining in on you, pounding your skull and thumping messages into your brain. You think of the cranial fluid around your brain cushioning each blow, taking the strain, taking each hit, getting weaker all the time. Today is your first day at Primary school; nobody said that it would be anything like this.
God says to you (via his many agents on this planet) that neither your life nor your body belong to you – they are his as he is your creator. Also your spirit does not belong to you, so what are you really responsible for in this life? Without ownership it is hard to take responsibility, everybody knows that. So if your body is God’s temple and should not be abused, tattooed, pierced, smoked in, poisoned, overfed, taken to any of it’s limits or neglected in any way, why should we care? It’s like driving around in a rented car when your company is picking up the tab. No wonder the world is so screwed up.
Falling into somewhere that does not exist, yet my existential friend.