Friday, January 22, 2010

700. MORDECHAI

MORDECHAI
'I walked through doors for the first third
of my life - passing through both wood
and glass as if nothing. No miracle was involved,
mind you, just an attendant grace of G-d within me.
Having need to pause, a genuflection always hard
to do, I bent at the waist to the morning Lords of
light and air and Nature. Since time immemorial
Jahweh Himself had been a volcanic God - a
steaming hiss of fire and flame pouring down
from a mountain. We begged Him to speak,
He spit back at us with fire and rocks and torment.
As we really meant nothing to Him - just beggar bastards
meant for His hands - it little mattered what we did.
Incredible, stinking meat sacrifices. Bloody
throat-slittings of screaming livestock. Even
the sacrifices of each other - daughters and
sons on despicable stone slabs. Screaming of
death and the smokes of sacrificial fires!
What the Hell was it all for? He, above us,
did nothing - complained of our stench,
grew bored with our clamor. Rivers of
blood running through platforms of
dead bodies. And finally, this G-d, this
cursed, bastardized Numen of our
own creation, paced us off, left
His garden, cut us loose, and
simply disappeared, leaving
somehow no trace behind.'

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