I'm a Non-Buddhist, Too

I had a free ticket to see the Dalai Lama at Seattle's Qwest Field. I gave it away to do my Saturday job selling papers to vendors, so as not to require a mad last minute search for a substitute for me. Many vendors went, as did the beloved Anitra (worst vendor ever, in terms of sales) and fellow "editor" Cecil the Vendor, who together reported back to me at the end of the day over fish and chips.

According to their reports and others, what I missed was a crowd of 50,000, speeches from politicians obviously trying to cash in on The Lama's good image, very bad acoustics (the word used most often was reverb) which added to The Lama's accent made for a largely incomprehensible speech. This is what I expected, which was why I wasn't too sad about not getting to go.

What I didn't miss was a lovely exchange with an avid Christian (I'll call him AC) back in the office before the whole thing.

While a dozen or so vendors were gathering at the office to get their free tickets and bus down to the event together, AC was showing off his hand-made cross and making it very well understood that although he was going to see a Buddhist, HE was a Christian. He was being so clear and vocal about his Christianity, in contrast to what the Dalai Lama is, that I started to wonder why he was going. How would he be able to hear, even with perfect acoustics? He must not be going for the purpose of hearing.

He got into a discussion with another fellow "editor" Stan Burriss, who got the benefit of the ticket I would have used. In the course of the discussion AC plied Stan for his religious faith, and Stan told him he was Christian. Then Stan pointed to Anitra and said if you're looking for a non-Christian, talk to her, or words to that affect. This illustrates one of Stan B's problems. Anitra has told him many times she counts herself Christian, but he always forgets each time within the hour.

So as Anitra and Stan left early, she called back to AC and said, she's a Christian -- it's her husband sitting behind the desk there that's the non-Christian.

Just great. It's like the Cavalry is at the teepee and the Captain says, "Any Injuns in there?" and my squaw says "I'm Danish. You're probably looking for my husband. I'll fetch him out." It's like Columbo is at the door, and says, "I just have a few questions to ask," and my woman says, "Oh I'm not good at questions, I'll get you my husband. He can be out as soon as he finishes cleaning the blood off his butcher knife." Way to go, Anitra. Good teamwork.

Truly I kid, but sure enough, after a break in vendor activity a few minutes later meant AC could have my undivided attention, he sat directly across from me and said, "So, what's your beef with Christianity?"

I wanted to tell him that the only beef I have with Christianity is that way too many Christians think that is a decent question. All he knows at this point is that I'm non-Christian, he doesn't know what I am, I haven't expressed any animosity toward his religion, he hasn't done me the formal courtesy of asking about mine, and if he did I couldn't explain it to him in less than a week. I didn't say any of that. I said, "I don't have a beef with Christianity. I just am what I am. Why do you have a beef with what I am?" To that he said he didn't have a beef, he loved me, he loves everybody, I was his Brother, etc.

But he does have a beef with non-Christians, because he sees them universally as rejecting his God, and isn't interested in who they are.

During the debriefing Cecil said that as the Dalai Lama appeared AC shouted something like "JESUS WALKED ON WATER!"

So my suspicion was right. He didn't go to hear.

Fort Devens Messiah

I said my Mother tortured me by enema for an hour and a half on a Saturday. I don't really know. It's my best guess. So I don't really know if the events of the next day happened on a Sunday. I'm not even sure it happened in the Spring of 1956.

On the other hand, my memory of the events of that alleged Sunday are very, very, clear. For four or five hours, I became a messiah, a warrior of peace, sent from God.

I woke up that morning calm and whole. Alex, AKA Alaka'i, He Who Points The Way, was joined with Kona, The Calm Side, within me. I was a centaur. For this I could thank my Mother and the previous night's torture.

It was, coincidentally, a very good day. The sky was clear. It was warm. It was the first day in months that could be described as having short-sleeves weather.

Consequently, there were lots of children outside, playing in the green marching fields and wide lawns of Fort Devens. I was out among them by 9 or 10 that morning.

Because there were so many kids I'd never seen before that day, I made a few new friends before the news arrived. The news: someone came running up to tell everyone that so-and-so, who I never heard of, was in the hospital, because he'd crossed into the Spics' neighborhood, and they'd broke his arm. It was, I was told, only the latest of a series of violent attacks by one side or another in turf wars between Anglos and Hispanics on base.

I had to ask what Spics were. I'd never heard the word before. I was told they were Puerto Ricans. I asked, "What are Puerto Ricans?" I was told they were Spanish-speaking people who lived on an island. "What island?" They said, Puerto Rico, in the Caribbean.

I was from an island in the Pacific. OK, no, I was born in South Carolina. But my soul was an island soul, my 'aumakua was an island bird, my color was an island color. I thought that I could talk to these Puerto Ricans as a fellow islander.

I had studied Jesus. I had been a Hawaiian Messiah. I knew what Utu was. I could ask the question "What would Kū do?"

Jesus would have fought for peace. So I would fight for peace.

I started telling everyone that we had to go to the Spics and tell them that we wanted peace. We would offer them a deal: they could have free passage through Anglo neighborhoods, and in return, we would have free passage through theirs. Mutual freedom of movement would be the immediate reward, the carrot. Peace would be the long-term reward.

I was told by one of my new friends that I was crazy. There was no way I could lead a party of Anglos to present a truce to the Spics. I said, maybe Jesus was crazy. He said sure, maybe, "He was crucified, you know."

That decided it for me. This would be my crucifixion. Somehow, I would lead the Anglo kids to present a truce to the Puerto Ricans, that very day, or I would be hung to die, or both.

Captain Jesus

In Seattle the relatives wanted to know how my spiritual education was proceeding. I didn't know what that meant. My parents went to church every Sunday but the Army chapel had a day-care for young children like me that were thought to likely be too disruptive for the services.

But when we got back from Seattle my parents decided to put me in a Bible class. The class had already been in progress for a couple of weeks. I was entered into it in the middle. This was par for the course. I was stuck with a bunch of kids who were more Christian than I was because they started the class at the beginning. Stuff like this went on throughout my childhood. It comes with being an army brat. You're always late for the start of the program. The other kids think they will always know more than you will. You have to prove them wrong, by coming up from behind.

I was determined to get more Jesus knowledge than all those snots put together. I dove into the Bible reader and read four weeks of lessons in one, and by the end of the course I was the smart-ass in the class with his hand up all the time.

At the end of it all, all I got was this lousy certificate. WTF? Since when is Jesus a sailor? Since when am I a sailor? And if I'm so well trained, why is Jesus still standing there? Doesn't graduating mean I can do it myself now? Someone then told me that the Christian way was to let Jesus into your HEART and guide you in all your life.

That can't be right, I thought. If Jesus is going to live my life for me, why am I here? What do I need with a divine parasite in my heart, telling me where to go and what to do?

Godhood: The Downside

So at the age of 2 years and about 9 months, I was a pre-school messiah for the Hawaiian Nation.

At first I had no real concerns. Lono had dropped Christian ideas into our conversation, but almost everything was from Genesis. There had been only one passing reference to Jesus and we hadn't gone into detail about what had happened to Jesus. No mention of anything to do with crosses, hangings on trees, scourgings, or things of that nature. Being a messiah was all about leading people where they should go, as I understood it. It was like being a Captain, only you were the boss of more people.


I knew that some study would be required, in order to know what best to do. But I figured I had plenty of time for that. Lani said I wouldn't do my work as messiah until I was grown up. I didn't know how long that would be but I figured it would take at least a year.

Then Lani dropped a bomb on the whole idea. It came in the form of remarks concerning kapu.

Kapu is Hawaiian for taboo. We were talking about the ancient Hawaiian taboo system. The discussion came up in a weird way. I had mentioned having seen an unusual hut at the place where I had heard the Kaulilua song. I described it to Lani and Lono and they described it as a menstrual hut.

They said that when the women were bleeding, they had too much mana so they had to stay in the menstrual huts. It was required by the kapu.

I had to repeat my promise not to speak to others about our conversations in order to get that far. They told me how White People have their own kapu, which is not to talk about such things.

Other aspects of the kapu were brought up, like the fact that the women ate separately from the men, or that certain foods were prohibited.

The way kapu was explained to me was that there were two worlds, the world of gods and animals, and the world of humans. The kapu is a wall created by humans holding hands together to keep the gods and animals out of the human world.

So the kapu separates wild from tame, rather than sacred from profane. But the feelings are the same. When kapu is broken it feels like chaos is near at hand. Which is also the feeling that inspires "reverence" in Westerners -- the word means "fear" -- of divine "rapture" -- a word meaning to be stolen away violently.

So religious ceremonies in the tradition were preceded by prayers for a temporary lifting of kapu, under carefully planned circumstances.

Without kapu there could be no society. Kapu was needed for safety and security. Lani reeled off more and more of the rules of kapu and it became too much to take in.

I asked how anyone could remember it all. Lani said I didn't need to learn it all, because I was outside the kapu. The rules didn't apply to me, all I had to do was not hurt people, and I'd be fine.

But... the kapu is what keeps people together, he had said. So I said, but how can i be outside of the kapu if I'm one of the people he said.

Now, at the time I still had a visible scar on my head from being hit by the car. It started on the right side of my forehead and ran back to the right into my hair. Lani pointed to the scar and said, "Because of this, you would be outside of the kapu."

I was starting to cry and I asked what else did that mean besides not having to know the rules (which I had wanted to know!) and he said that, for example, I wouldn't be able to marry.

That was too much.

I went from feeling adopted to feeling myself an outcast in one conversation. I was worse than an outcast. I was non-human.

So what if I was a child of the gods in a human form if I wasn't going to be treated as a human?

It wasn't that I wanted to marry some day. it was that I thought that I was finally not being treated as an animal, and here I was being told that the rules of kapu meant that what my parents did to me demanded that I be treated as non-human. Why is it that my parents get their way after all? Why am I to be punished and not them?

After that session I stopped going to see Lani and Lono. I decided that I would find friends my own age, or I wouldn't have friends. I was angry.

Christ Bucket

Anitra is still on her gardening jag. Since I last whined about it we've had two worm & compost spills inside on her floors, involving two buckets of worms and buffalo shit. Then the worm bin finally arrived and I thought that the compost eating worms would go outside and stay outside and the compost would go with thm.

No. Have to make compost by letting parsley rot in the refrigerator. Would let it rot faster in the room but, you know, that would stink. So let it stink in the frig.

But Anitra is not totally unaware. She knows that Wes hateses stinky parsley. She orders a compost bucket with a lid from an online compost bucket seller. It arrived in a box by UPS this morning. It's a very nice compost bucket.

With a Jesus pamphlet inside.

Now, I've said it before, I've been proselytized to hell and back. I've had thousands of Christ pamphlets shoved an inch from my nose over the course of my 57 going on 58 years. But I never imagined anyone would stoop so low as send an unsolicited Jesus pamphlet with a compost bucket delivery.

The whole fucking argument for outdoor public displays used to be, well, the non-Christians can always go to their homes and lock their doors if they don't like it. Now it seems, you have to also not order in.

I went to the website that Anitra ordered from. No clue was given, no warning, that a Jesus pamphlet would come with the compost bucket.

Many of you are probably thinking, "shut up Wes, it's about the free speech". I'm not miffed that it was sent. I'm not bothered by the speech. The tract is one that has been put out since the Fifties, called Steps to Peace with God. I've read it before, it's no big deal.

I just think it's hilarious that they think they can catch me off-guard now and sneak a Jesus Saves in to my life for the thousand and 1st time with a compost bucket, & I'm going to go, "Gosh, you all never made it so clear before! Now I get it! Why didn't you send me the Gospel with a compost bucket before?!"

I also think it's stupid that they couldn't spend a minute of web-managing time and simply posted up on their website the address of one of the dozens of available online versions of the tract in question.

For the sake of those who really really love Jesus tracts, here are not one but five addresses to five different versions of the tract we got. A couple are animated. Enjoy!

Billy Graham Evangelistic Association online version

Fishthe Net version

A version in Farsi!

World Wide Christian Web version

Alternate animated Fishthe Net version

Limbus, Nimbus

My immediate reaction to the news that the Roman Catholic International Theological Commission had put down the concept of Limbo, saying it reflected an "unduly restrictive view of salvation" was to rejoice that this may be the loophole that gets me into the last big party in the sky.

After all, although I have been baptised at least four, possibly five times, most were against my will, and therefore couldn't have counted (surely consent matters) and the other time probably didn't "take" either, as the devil did not leave me screaming, and the wet spot didn't raise any welts.

So I've been thinking Limbo was my best hope. Maybe God would decide I was like the virtuous pagans who lived before Jesus and couldn't have heard of him. So at least I wouldn't fry.

Now though, the Commission was saying that God could extend his Grace more than had been dreamed of ever before, and whoa, maybe He might accept the heretofore Limbo-bound to Heaven.

Then Anitra "Freethinking Christian" Freeman pointed out the silly error of my reasoning, which only wishful thinking could have blinded me to, namely that I have heard of Jesus, and have had plenty of chances to install that program, and have repeatedly clicked the back button, so there is no question that I never was a candidate for Limbo at all, and frying has always been and always will be my only option.

I can only console myself with the fact that no one has promised pizza in Heaven anyway. So what good is it?

Which brings me to what I hate about the Commission's position. I LIKED that there was a Limbo, because it made the whole situation more interesting. Baroque good. Rococo better. The more stuff there is in your theology, the more stuff I get to play with. OK, I can't get to Heaven, but tell me there's pizza there, and some of it has pineapples and ham, which I wouldn't like, and some of it has anchovies, which I would. Someone might toss some cold leftovers down to Hell. I want to dream.

The Germans are surely behind this. With their revolt against Nouns triggered by the way their own written language rubs their faces in them all the time. So they keep trying to take all of our Nouns away from us and the Things and Places and People they attached to, to leave us with nothing but a world of be without any Thing or One to do the being, or any Place to do it.

Please Ratzinger, in your quest to escape the tyrannical Nouns of your literature, don't also take away the furniture and rooms of my English imagination!


[Baroque Good? Rococo Better?]

Cultural Dissonance

Easter is my favorite Christian holiday because it makes no sense whatsoever to me, and I do enjoy senselessness, no matter how much I say to the contrary.

The whole death and resurrection story makes no sense whatsoever. If Jesus is God, it's no surprise that He can resurrect Himself. So where's the drama?

Then there's the Easter Bunny business. Who thought up that abomination of nature? A rabbit that lays colored hard boiled eggs with stupid little decals glued to them? Couldn't they at least be soft-boiled? I hate dried out yolks. You know, a little salmonellosis isn't going to kill most of us.

I think I finally figured out why they hide the eggs. The whole business of gorging on eggs at Easter-time isn't a pagan idea at all. It stems from the fact that the Medieval Church prohibited the eating of eggs during Lent. So when Lent was over there was a surplus. Hiding the eggs ritually displaced the blame for the unavailability of eggs from the real culprit, the Church, and dumped it all on the bunny. They were trying to make us hate the bunny and love the Church. But it didn't work. Nobody can hate the bunny. He's a cute bunny, yes he is! YES HE IS A CUTE BUNNY!

But why are the eggs colored? I read that the red ones represent the blood of Jesus and the green ones represent the renewal of plant-life at spring. What do the purple ones represent? Tinky Winky?

In order to convey to my Christian friends exactly how senseless Easter appears to me, I offer this video I found on YouTube which I also don't get, and which I hope will instill within others the same kind of cultural dissonance that I derive from Easter. It's a Bollywood film with Cajun French subtitles added "for educational purposes." I want to know what school uses this material in its courses, and how their graduates are getting on in life.

Accept Mickey In Your Heart

Today I will compare and contrast Mickey Mouse and Christ.

The main difference between these two, as I see it, is that Mickey Mouse is owned by a corporation, while Christ lives in the public domain.

I'd like to take a moment now to voice my opposition to the ridiculous extensions of copyrights that have been granted to Disney and others. Fifty years after creation is long enough. If you haven't milked enough profit out of your baby after fifty years, tough.

I hear some of you saying, "Why should images like these belong to the public at all? We don't make inheritors of land give it back after some length of time. Why should Mickey be different than the house my Great Grandpa built?"

The difference is Great Grandpa didn't introduce his house to the public and let its architecture and interior decoration become part of the public culture, for financial gain, the way Disney has done with Mickey.

Or did he? In fact, our acts preserving historic landmarks show that if a piece of real estate has been opened to the public and subsequently burned into the public collective consciousness, even without financial gain, there is some agreement that the public is entitled to a degree of control and access. There are historic images too.

That brings me to a pet peeve I have about Christians. Christians proselytize more than just about all other religions put together by a factor of ten or so. I have had pamphlets about how much Jesus loves me, and how much I need him, and how I'm going to hell if I don't accept Jesus in my heart, shoved in my face on a daily basis, until finally my heart and soul died on a cross of pamphlets, and I rose again on the third day as a digressive smartass.

As a result of all this Jesus is not only in the public domain as a matter of law, but also as a matter of morality.

Whoever whips me, I'm entitled to take their whip away and break it in front of their faces, and they have no right to claim offense. The offense has all been to me.


[Shown: Recently discovered ossuary. Believed to have been made to hold Mickey Mouse's bones, but in fact empty. Thus, evidence that he still lives, if the lingering marketing and the lawsuits hadn't clued you in already.]