One Awful Racket

Posted on December 12, 2019

One awful racket

He knew he was just a simple fellow.
Not terribly bright. With a lot he really didn't understand.
So his prayers were very unpolished. Just what he honestly thought.

“Great Lord, or Great Spirit or Great Entity, how-ever I should address you…”
He paused, knowing in his heart that he meant no disrespect.
“I have such a strong sense that YOU are the Creator of the Universe.”
He admired that work immensely.
“And you know I really enjoy everything you have made.”
Yes, he did. Nature fascinated him. He could never get enough of it.
“And I thank you for the five senses you gave me. They are SO cool.”
He knew there were blind folk in the world. But he was grateful he could see. He thought of the millions of deaf, and was grateful he could hear. The lapping of the waves. And the cries of confused birds, who should have been asleep. Misled by the ship's many artificial suns, blazing in the normally dark mid-Ocean night.
“I find it amazing that you might be listening to my tiny, probing thoughts.”
He reflected on seven billion little folks, all praying like the clappers at once. What an awful racket. Then again, there were Atheists to be taken out. Materialists. Trendy swingers, busy with more important stuff, sex, partying & making money, with no time for silly superstition.
Annnnnd… all those folks sensibly asleep, he reflected, ruefully.  It being way past midnight.
“I do hope you aren't fed up with my constant badgering. I'm just super curious. How come you put up with all the nastiness? People mock you something fierce… “
There was a long pause. He was lying stretched out on his back, on the  torpedo-shaped airbag that constituted one of his chopper's floats.
He liked that question, and he asked it a lot.
He paused again, for a long time. His prayers were never terribly slick, or fluent. But he didn't care.

In his mind he roamed the stars. And thought of the tremendous distances. He thought of Time, which he knew was not a straight-line constant. He thought of the concept of 'eons' and geological time scales, that baffled his mind. And he found himself giggling quietly.
There was something absurdly comical about little players, 'strutting and fretting their hour upon the stage'. Posing for the cameras, all ah-huffing and ah-puffing. Making themselves out to be wise, supreme, and indispensable. Oh, and brilliant, of course.
Even with the tiny little he thought HE knew… he suspected they, the 'world leaders',  knew even less. In the one area that really mattered.

“You are a very patient Creator, Lord”, he mused.
“In fact, I'd say there is an awesome element about how you wait for the appointed moment.”

A seagull screeched indignation. Or maybe disappointment. One of his buddies replied. The ship rocked, very gently.

An unmistakable satellite appeared above the horizon. Drawing its blazing path. With no light pollution, the night sky here was spectacular.

He was silent, at last.
With one overwhelming sense.


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