1639 shopping days til 220.127.116.11.0 4 Ahau 3 K’ank’in.
(click image to enlarge)
The body politic of this country suffers from obesity. This, dear pilgrims and seekers, is a spiritual affliction, deep and double wide, manifested physically. We have the holy heft, we bear the burden of the Love Handles of God, we jiggle like a bowlful of Jello-for-Jesus because we are a Christian, predominantly Protestant nation. America the Fat, living by the fatwahs of fatheads, not America the Free.
Does this God make our ass look big? Does the Capitol have a ro-tund-a? You better believe it. And our soon to be ex-POTUS has painted a nice, big bull’s-eye on it.
But I can’t leave out devotees of the Maid, the Mother, or the Crone, such as myself. I have slaughtered the fatted calf beneath the Asherahs of Adam’s Madam, and the fat of the land encircles my midriff.
When I put on my Occam‘s beanie, aka my reductio ad absurdum tam o’ shanter, It seems to me it is the taint of monotheism that spoils the rich broth of America’s spiritual diversity, and we carry that on our hips, most of us. I am very, very Baptist, although Atheist Baptist, and according to a scientific study Baptists are on average the porkiest of all. Root, hog, root. I am a glutton, but not just for punishment. I want the grease and the gravy too. This I blame on the faith of my fathers and my mother’s cooking.
Buddha I note is often depicted as a fat (and happy) man…Jesus hangs on the cross like a tortured anorexic…so why are most Buddhists skinny and most Christians overweight? The Moslems obviously aren’t eating right, most of them, perhaps due to subconscious anxiety as to what it is, really, under the black curtain of the Qaaba. Oh, Mother of Allah!
The Goddess too is flowing with fat. How shall we take nourishment from Her, from the creamy milk of Her Inhuman Kindness, without raising our cholesterol and our blood pressure? I don’t know. I have entered a sort of dark Wisconsin of the soul, and my soul is lactose-intolerant. I know not when the divine afflatus will blow its trump, or of what savor the revelation will be. In meantime, I bow down before the holy shrine of the refrigerator, open the door of the reliquary, and look for some leftovers.
(This is old yada, which means it had a previous incarnation at the Tent Show at Salon, and that I didn’t have anything new this morning. But I still like it, and think it worth reposting.)