CHAPTER 12
“How was the concert?” my roommate asked.
“Good, except that my family didn’t fuckin’ show up.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t call or leave a message on my phone and I’ve been calling the house all the way home, but no one’s picking up. Did they call here?”
“There’s a message on the machine, but it’s your Grandma.”
I hit the answering machine button and sure enough, I hear my Grandmother’s voice.
“Hi Tim, it’s Grandma. Can you give me a call when you get this.”
That was the only message. I hit the button angrily to delete it.
“Maybe she knows where they are.”
“That’s true. They’re probably over at her house and that’s why they forgot all about it.”
I look up her number in my cell phone and hit SEND. As it’s ringing, I try to clam down a little, because I don’t want to lash out at my Grandma. It takes a while for someone to answer and I figure they must be outside. I’m about to hang up when I hear her answer.
“Hi Grandma, it’s Tim.” I get impatient, and instead of waiting for her to tell me why she called, I jump in. “Hey, are Mom and Dad and the girls there? Did they remember that I had a concert today? Do you know where they are?” She begins to tell me where they are. “A fire? Our house? Is everyone ok?” …
I’m vaguely aware of my Grandmother’s voice fading into the distance and my roommate yelling to me from the other room as I get tunnel vision. I remember a thump, and looking up at my roommate, shaking me and asking if I am ok, before everything goes black.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
So it’s Sunday and I have a Wind Ensemble concert. Ensembles are half way between music classes and composing on my “things I like scale”. I love performing, I just love composing and performing my own music more. Also, the music that we play is not always the most interesting, so sometimes I would rather be in class. My main gripe is that we play too many orchestral arrangements. Now back in the day, that was pretty much all bands could play besides marches. Nowadays however, there are plenty of composers putting out brand new literature, specifically for concert band/wind ensemble. And if you can’t find any of them, hell, you got one right here. I would love to have one of the pieces from my Bible epic performed in this recital hall!
Wind Ensemble concerts are at 3:00 but we have a dress rehearsal at before that at 1:00. When my family comes, they get here early and I get them free tickets (I have connections). They usually show up between 1:30 and 2:00. During dress rehearsal, I’ll peek my head out of the stage door to see if they’ve shown up, whenever I get a break. I quickly glance up and down the hallway and then run back in. This time however, even after I did this a bunch of times, up until the end of dress rehearsal, I didn’t see them. After dress rehearsal, I ran up the hallway, toward the box office to see if they were around the corner. Still no sign. I went back through the stage door and looked out into the audience to see if maybe they had snuck in. The front row of seats, where my Mom likes to sit was still empty, so I knew they weren’t in there. When I came out into the hall, I saw one of my percussion buddies. He’s met at least some of my family before, so I figured he would recognize them if he saw them.
“Hey, have you seen any of my family around?” I asked him.
“No. They’re not here yet?”
“No. Usually they’re here by the time we finish rehearsal.”
“Maybe we ended earlier than we usually do.”
“Maybe. What time is it?”
“It’s about ten past 2. Maybe they’re just running a little late.”
“I guess. I’ll be outside. If you see them, can you tell them where I am.”
“Sure.”
I stopped at the percussion room to grab my cell phone, then went outside and ran up a few of the aisles in the parking lot to see if the van was there. I didn’t see it. I checked my voice mail to see if they called. They didn’t. I called the house. Got no answer. I figured it was because they already left and were on the road. I stayed outside to watch for them so I would know right when they got here. After pacing around outside for about a half hour, I went back inside. I dropped my phone off in the percussion room, and checked all the same places that I did before. I ran up toward the box office, but they weren’t among the people waiting to go in. I ran back and checked on stage, but the front row of seats was still empty. When I came out from back stage, I even looked up and down the hall again, but they were not here. I went around the corner toward the band room and saw my percussion buddy again, talking with his girlfriend and one of her friends.
“Did you find them?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t”
“Maybe they’re already inside. Did you check..”
“Yeah, I checked in the audience, over by the box office, even out in the parking lot, but they’re not here.”
“Well they’ve been here before, so when they show up, they’ll know where to go.”
“Yeah.”
Now it was time to start filing on stage. The percussionists have to go on last anyway, because we’re in the back, so I took that opportunity to check the parking lot once more. I came back in, just in time to be the last one on stage, but not look like I was late.
I wouldn’t say I played poorly, because the parts weren’t that hard, but my heart definitely wasn’t in it. I kept looking over to that empty front row, hoping I’d see them come in, in between pieces. When the concert was over and the house lights came on, I stayed on stage and looked toward the back of the audience. I figured that if they came in late, maybe they wouldn’t want to come all the way up to the front and just go to the first empty seats they saw. If that were the case however, even if I didn’t see them, they would see me now, and come over to the stage. I kept looking until I was sure that the last few stragglers weren’t them. I walked out into the hall, this being the last ditch effort, figuring maybe they’d be out there waiting for me. As I was standing there, I felt a hand on my shoulder and it gave me a sense of relief. When I turned and saw that it was my percussion buddy, my heart sank (no offence to him).
“Hey, did you end up finding your family?”
“Nope, they never showed up,” I said as I shrugged, kind of annoyed by this point.
I put the percussion instruments away, which only annoyed me further, because everyone else and their families were getting in my way. When I was done, I grabbed my stuff out of the percussion room and headed for the van. I took out my cell phone and when I had a signal (you don’t get reception in the FAC), I checked my voicemail again. I called the house again. Now I was just pissed. What the hell were they doing? Why would they just blow me off like that?
So it’s Sunday and I have a Wind Ensemble concert. Ensembles are half way between music classes and composing on my “things I like scale”. I love performing, I just love composing and performing my own music more. Also, the music that we play is not always the most interesting, so sometimes I would rather be in class. My main gripe is that we play too many orchestral arrangements. Now back in the day, that was pretty much all bands could play besides marches. Nowadays however, there are plenty of composers putting out brand new literature, specifically for concert band/wind ensemble. And if you can’t find any of them, hell, you got one right here. I would love to have one of the pieces from my Bible epic performed in this recital hall!
Wind Ensemble concerts are at 3:00 but we have a dress rehearsal at before that at 1:00. When my family comes, they get here early and I get them free tickets (I have connections). They usually show up between 1:30 and 2:00. During dress rehearsal, I’ll peek my head out of the stage door to see if they’ve shown up, whenever I get a break. I quickly glance up and down the hallway and then run back in. This time however, even after I did this a bunch of times, up until the end of dress rehearsal, I didn’t see them. After dress rehearsal, I ran up the hallway, toward the box office to see if they were around the corner. Still no sign. I went back through the stage door and looked out into the audience to see if maybe they had snuck in. The front row of seats, where my Mom likes to sit was still empty, so I knew they weren’t in there. When I came out into the hall, I saw one of my percussion buddies. He’s met at least some of my family before, so I figured he would recognize them if he saw them.
“Hey, have you seen any of my family around?” I asked him.
“No. They’re not here yet?”
“No. Usually they’re here by the time we finish rehearsal.”
“Maybe we ended earlier than we usually do.”
“Maybe. What time is it?”
“It’s about ten past 2. Maybe they’re just running a little late.”
“I guess. I’ll be outside. If you see them, can you tell them where I am.”
“Sure.”
I stopped at the percussion room to grab my cell phone, then went outside and ran up a few of the aisles in the parking lot to see if the van was there. I didn’t see it. I checked my voice mail to see if they called. They didn’t. I called the house. Got no answer. I figured it was because they already left and were on the road. I stayed outside to watch for them so I would know right when they got here. After pacing around outside for about a half hour, I went back inside. I dropped my phone off in the percussion room, and checked all the same places that I did before. I ran up toward the box office, but they weren’t among the people waiting to go in. I ran back and checked on stage, but the front row of seats was still empty. When I came out from back stage, I even looked up and down the hall again, but they were not here. I went around the corner toward the band room and saw my percussion buddy again, talking with his girlfriend and one of her friends.
“Did you find them?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t”
“Maybe they’re already inside. Did you check..”
“Yeah, I checked in the audience, over by the box office, even out in the parking lot, but they’re not here.”
“Well they’ve been here before, so when they show up, they’ll know where to go.”
“Yeah.”
Now it was time to start filing on stage. The percussionists have to go on last anyway, because we’re in the back, so I took that opportunity to check the parking lot once more. I came back in, just in time to be the last one on stage, but not look like I was late.
I wouldn’t say I played poorly, because the parts weren’t that hard, but my heart definitely wasn’t in it. I kept looking over to that empty front row, hoping I’d see them come in, in between pieces. When the concert was over and the house lights came on, I stayed on stage and looked toward the back of the audience. I figured that if they came in late, maybe they wouldn’t want to come all the way up to the front and just go to the first empty seats they saw. If that were the case however, even if I didn’t see them, they would see me now, and come over to the stage. I kept looking until I was sure that the last few stragglers weren’t them. I walked out into the hall, this being the last ditch effort, figuring maybe they’d be out there waiting for me. As I was standing there, I felt a hand on my shoulder and it gave me a sense of relief. When I turned and saw that it was my percussion buddy, my heart sank (no offence to him).
“Hey, did you end up finding your family?”
“Nope, they never showed up,” I said as I shrugged, kind of annoyed by this point.
I put the percussion instruments away, which only annoyed me further, because everyone else and their families were getting in my way. When I was done, I grabbed my stuff out of the percussion room and headed for the van. I took out my cell phone and when I had a signal (you don’t get reception in the FAC), I checked my voicemail again. I called the house again. Now I was just pissed. What the hell were they doing? Why would they just blow me off like that?
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
Luckily I didn’t have to work that night, because I was not in the mood. I mean, I am never in the mood, but I was really not in the mood. After trading quick ‘What’s up?’s with my roommate, I went right to my room. I emptied the entire contents of my bag onto my bed. My notebooks, my Latin note cards, my Latin text book and workbook, my music manuscript paper, my composition notes, my scores that I was studying. Looking at the pile, I decided it was time to make a choice: do what I hate, or do what I love. This may seem obvious when just presented with the choice itself, however, it is not always easy when you consider the terms of the choice, or the possible consequences. Nevertheless, in light of recent events, I made my choice. I sifted through the pile and pulled out anything composition related and placed it on my desk chair. This was my choice: to do what I love. With a sigh of relief, I began to work.
For a couple of years, I had wanted to compose music based on different parts of the Bible, specifically, Genesis, The Passion and Revelation. As the idea gestated, (as all my ideas do before being born) different ideas came to me about slight changes that could be made to the way the stories were told. For example, in Genesis, instead of an apple, Eve was tempted with sex (what else do you know of that looks like a snake holding an apple?). Instead of The First Horseman of the Apocalypse riding on a white horse, maybe it’s a ‘White House’ (see what I did there?). Here’s where it gets a little crazy: I decided to add vampires. Actually, no. I didn’t decide to add vampires, it just happened that way. Everything just fit so well, I couldn’t not mix them in. It’s like they were originally there, and were taken out of the stories to make the versions we know today. Vampires do play a much bigger part than I imagined at the beginning, but I won’t tell you how. You’ll just have to buy the books. Anyway, this epic is what I decided to work on that night (and pretty much every chance that I have, since then).
After working for a while, I saw movement at my bedroom door, out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look, but nothing was there. I turned back to my music and a couple of seconds later, it was there again. I turned once more to the door, but again - nothing. This time, instead of turning back to my music, I kept looking at the doorway, to see if whatever it was would show itself again…and it did. A little orange and grey orangutan face peeked sideways around the door, followed by my roommates head. He does this all the time, walking sideways silently by my door to subtlety get my attention. (Oh, and the orangutan is a stuffed animal that he makes dance and sing and hump people…hilarious.) We both laugh (I needed it) as he straightens up and comes in.
“What’re you doin’?” he asks.
“What’s up,” I reply.
“Aren’t you supposed to be doin’ homework?” he asks, looking at my bed and seeing the pile of Latin paraphernalia I am ignoring.
“Yeah,” I say defiantly (not defiant to him, defiant to ‘The Man’).
“Well why aren’t you doin’ it?” doing a mock impersonation of my father.
“Cuz I don’t wanna. Haha. I’m working on my music.”
“All right,” he says kind of disappointed. I think he wanted to play. He makes his orangutan wave goodbye as he walks backward out of my room, doing this high pitch whistle that we’ve been doing since Marching Band Camp, Sophomore year. I laugh and wave good bye and then settle back in to write.
I actually get a lot of work done. At this point, there was nothing really solidified, mostly just themes. I had music for the Garden of Eden, the Tree of Knowledge, an overall Good vs. Evil theme, as well as some instrument and rhythm associations to certain characters. For example, Adam is the French Horn, Eve is the flute and the Devil is the bassoon or oboe, depending on... well, you’ll find out later. I also have some nature sounds related to the overtone series, but now I’m getting too ‘music nerd’. Mostly what I did that night was play around with some of those ideas at my keyboard. There was one new idea that came to me that night though: music for someone being turned into a vampire. If vampires are going to be a part of this story, then at some point, someone is going to get turned. It was interesting because it combined a few of the other themes that I had been working with, in addition to some new ones.
It was only when my roommate came in, wrapped in a blanket and sleepy eyed, that I realized how much time had passed.
“What are you still doin’ up, dude, are you still workin’ on that?”
“Yup.”
“You’re fuckin’ nuts dude you need to go to bed. I’m goin’ to bed. Night.”
“I’ll see ya tomorrow some time.”
I didn’t stop to see exactly what time it was, but if my roommate was that tired, then it was late. I was still so pumped about composing again that I didn’t care. I kept going, and only stopped when I felt like I was going to pass out. I did even nod off a few times. And even though, for the last hour or so, I didn’t do anything but play the same stuff over and over again, I still loved every minute of it. I can’t remember a time when I was happier.
Luckily I didn’t have to work that night, because I was not in the mood. I mean, I am never in the mood, but I was really not in the mood. After trading quick ‘What’s up?’s with my roommate, I went right to my room. I emptied the entire contents of my bag onto my bed. My notebooks, my Latin note cards, my Latin text book and workbook, my music manuscript paper, my composition notes, my scores that I was studying. Looking at the pile, I decided it was time to make a choice: do what I hate, or do what I love. This may seem obvious when just presented with the choice itself, however, it is not always easy when you consider the terms of the choice, or the possible consequences. Nevertheless, in light of recent events, I made my choice. I sifted through the pile and pulled out anything composition related and placed it on my desk chair. This was my choice: to do what I love. With a sigh of relief, I began to work.
For a couple of years, I had wanted to compose music based on different parts of the Bible, specifically, Genesis, The Passion and Revelation. As the idea gestated, (as all my ideas do before being born) different ideas came to me about slight changes that could be made to the way the stories were told. For example, in Genesis, instead of an apple, Eve was tempted with sex (what else do you know of that looks like a snake holding an apple?). Instead of The First Horseman of the Apocalypse riding on a white horse, maybe it’s a ‘White House’ (see what I did there?). Here’s where it gets a little crazy: I decided to add vampires. Actually, no. I didn’t decide to add vampires, it just happened that way. Everything just fit so well, I couldn’t not mix them in. It’s like they were originally there, and were taken out of the stories to make the versions we know today. Vampires do play a much bigger part than I imagined at the beginning, but I won’t tell you how. You’ll just have to buy the books. Anyway, this epic is what I decided to work on that night (and pretty much every chance that I have, since then).
After working for a while, I saw movement at my bedroom door, out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look, but nothing was there. I turned back to my music and a couple of seconds later, it was there again. I turned once more to the door, but again - nothing. This time, instead of turning back to my music, I kept looking at the doorway, to see if whatever it was would show itself again…and it did. A little orange and grey orangutan face peeked sideways around the door, followed by my roommates head. He does this all the time, walking sideways silently by my door to subtlety get my attention. (Oh, and the orangutan is a stuffed animal that he makes dance and sing and hump people…hilarious.) We both laugh (I needed it) as he straightens up and comes in.
“What’re you doin’?” he asks.
“What’s up,” I reply.
“Aren’t you supposed to be doin’ homework?” he asks, looking at my bed and seeing the pile of Latin paraphernalia I am ignoring.
“Yeah,” I say defiantly (not defiant to him, defiant to ‘The Man’).
“Well why aren’t you doin’ it?” doing a mock impersonation of my father.
“Cuz I don’t wanna. Haha. I’m working on my music.”
“All right,” he says kind of disappointed. I think he wanted to play. He makes his orangutan wave goodbye as he walks backward out of my room, doing this high pitch whistle that we’ve been doing since Marching Band Camp, Sophomore year. I laugh and wave good bye and then settle back in to write.
I actually get a lot of work done. At this point, there was nothing really solidified, mostly just themes. I had music for the Garden of Eden, the Tree of Knowledge, an overall Good vs. Evil theme, as well as some instrument and rhythm associations to certain characters. For example, Adam is the French Horn, Eve is the flute and the Devil is the bassoon or oboe, depending on... well, you’ll find out later. I also have some nature sounds related to the overtone series, but now I’m getting too ‘music nerd’. Mostly what I did that night was play around with some of those ideas at my keyboard. There was one new idea that came to me that night though: music for someone being turned into a vampire. If vampires are going to be a part of this story, then at some point, someone is going to get turned. It was interesting because it combined a few of the other themes that I had been working with, in addition to some new ones.
It was only when my roommate came in, wrapped in a blanket and sleepy eyed, that I realized how much time had passed.
“What are you still doin’ up, dude, are you still workin’ on that?”
“Yup.”
“You’re fuckin’ nuts dude you need to go to bed. I’m goin’ to bed. Night.”
“I’ll see ya tomorrow some time.”
I didn’t stop to see exactly what time it was, but if my roommate was that tired, then it was late. I was still so pumped about composing again that I didn’t care. I kept going, and only stopped when I felt like I was going to pass out. I did even nod off a few times. And even though, for the last hour or so, I didn’t do anything but play the same stuff over and over again, I still loved every minute of it. I can’t remember a time when I was happier.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
So I’m late again. This time, however, when I am sitting for a ridiculously long time at the intersection of Route 1 and 138, I say nothing. I do nothing. But sit. And wait. I am quiet. I am still. I stare straight ahead. Blankly. I do not care that I am late. I do not know exactly how late I am, because I have not checked my watch. I do not care how late I am. I do know however, that I am VERY late.
Finally the light turns green and I creep through it. I get on 138 and adhere to the speed limit. For the entire drive I am mildly aware of the trees and the color of the leaves. The part of me that notices this, and wants to appreciate the beauty of it, is screaming, “hey, if we’re late we might as well enjoy the scenery!” “You used to love the trees in fall.” The rest of me does not care. The rest of me is pissed. Pissed that my friend is gone. Pissed that while he was dying, I was partying. Pissed that I spent most of my time being late for things I do not really care about. Pissed that I spend more time doing things that I hate, than I do composing. Pissed that I have not been living. Pissed, ironically, that I cannot enjoy the trees right now.
When the trip down 138 is finally finished and I take the right onto the little back-road, I start becoming more aware of my driving, which is good because it gets me out of my head. There is virtually no traffic on the roads because I am so late, but I still do not speed. When I get to the parking lot, I instinctively go to the entrance closest to the building and go up one of the rows of spots. I usually do this to find the spot closest to the building, as I am sure most of you do. This time, I do not care about finding a close spot and I end up driving past a few empty spaces. When I finally feel like stopping, I pull into the next space that I see. I do not go through my high speed routine in one fluid motion like I normally do. Every move I do is slow and deliberate. I unbuckle my seatbelt. I put the car in park. I roll up the window. I turn off the engine. I take out the key. I pick my bag up off the seat. I open the door. I lock it. I get out. I shut the door. I walk down the row of parked cars, realizing just how far away I am. Usually I am running, so it goes by a lot quicker, but walking seems to take forever.
When I finally get to the FAC and step inside, I see that the hallways are completely empty. Usually when I’m a little late, there are a few people who just got out of class and are hanging out, or finishing a conversation before they leave to go do something else. I am so late that everyone who is not in class, has already gone home or to lunch or to some other class. I make a left and walk toward the tables where people are usually sitting. I take another left and walk down the ramp. I get to the door on my right which, now that I’m not in a hurry, is open. (I do laugh to myself at this bit of irony.) I trudge up the stairs one at a time. When I get to the door, I don’t even bother trying it to see if it is open. I just knock obnoxiously and wait for someone to let me in. When someone finally does, I step through and walk toward the professor, awaiting my lecture.
“Mr. Girard…” He checks his watch. “You know, two weeks ago, you were here ten minutes after the class began.” He checks his watch again. “But now it’s ten minutes before the end of the class. You know, It’s hardly worth coming to class. We’ve got three more weeks of the semester and…”
“Fine,” I cut him off, shrugging my shoulders.
“What?”
I turn around and walk out, slamming the door behind me. As I’m going down the stairs, I undo the velcro strap on my watch. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I rip my watch off of my wrist and throw it in the trash can.
So I’m late again. This time, however, when I am sitting for a ridiculously long time at the intersection of Route 1 and 138, I say nothing. I do nothing. But sit. And wait. I am quiet. I am still. I stare straight ahead. Blankly. I do not care that I am late. I do not know exactly how late I am, because I have not checked my watch. I do not care how late I am. I do know however, that I am VERY late.
Finally the light turns green and I creep through it. I get on 138 and adhere to the speed limit. For the entire drive I am mildly aware of the trees and the color of the leaves. The part of me that notices this, and wants to appreciate the beauty of it, is screaming, “hey, if we’re late we might as well enjoy the scenery!” “You used to love the trees in fall.” The rest of me does not care. The rest of me is pissed. Pissed that my friend is gone. Pissed that while he was dying, I was partying. Pissed that I spent most of my time being late for things I do not really care about. Pissed that I spend more time doing things that I hate, than I do composing. Pissed that I have not been living. Pissed, ironically, that I cannot enjoy the trees right now.
When the trip down 138 is finally finished and I take the right onto the little back-road, I start becoming more aware of my driving, which is good because it gets me out of my head. There is virtually no traffic on the roads because I am so late, but I still do not speed. When I get to the parking lot, I instinctively go to the entrance closest to the building and go up one of the rows of spots. I usually do this to find the spot closest to the building, as I am sure most of you do. This time, I do not care about finding a close spot and I end up driving past a few empty spaces. When I finally feel like stopping, I pull into the next space that I see. I do not go through my high speed routine in one fluid motion like I normally do. Every move I do is slow and deliberate. I unbuckle my seatbelt. I put the car in park. I roll up the window. I turn off the engine. I take out the key. I pick my bag up off the seat. I open the door. I lock it. I get out. I shut the door. I walk down the row of parked cars, realizing just how far away I am. Usually I am running, so it goes by a lot quicker, but walking seems to take forever.
When I finally get to the FAC and step inside, I see that the hallways are completely empty. Usually when I’m a little late, there are a few people who just got out of class and are hanging out, or finishing a conversation before they leave to go do something else. I am so late that everyone who is not in class, has already gone home or to lunch or to some other class. I make a left and walk toward the tables where people are usually sitting. I take another left and walk down the ramp. I get to the door on my right which, now that I’m not in a hurry, is open. (I do laugh to myself at this bit of irony.) I trudge up the stairs one at a time. When I get to the door, I don’t even bother trying it to see if it is open. I just knock obnoxiously and wait for someone to let me in. When someone finally does, I step through and walk toward the professor, awaiting my lecture.
“Mr. Girard…” He checks his watch. “You know, two weeks ago, you were here ten minutes after the class began.” He checks his watch again. “But now it’s ten minutes before the end of the class. You know, It’s hardly worth coming to class. We’ve got three more weeks of the semester and…”
“Fine,” I cut him off, shrugging my shoulders.
“What?”
I turn around and walk out, slamming the door behind me. As I’m going down the stairs, I undo the velcro strap on my watch. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I rip my watch off of my wrist and throw it in the trash can.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
About an hour later, I get back to my house. When I go inside, I see my roommate in the living room watching TV. After some small talk, I finally get down to talking about what’s really on my mind.
“You know, I understand death. Death is not bad for those that died. They go on to another better place..”
“Heaven?”
“Or re-incarnation, or what ever.”
“Which one is it, do you think?”
“I think it depends on the person.”
“Like if they’re good they go to heaven, bad they go to hell, in between they get re-incarnated?”
“Kind of, but I don’t think it’s an absolute kind of thing. I don’t believe there is someone up there that decides, ‘you were bad, you go to hell’ or ‘you did what I wanted you to do, so you get to come chill with us in the clouds’. I think that whatever a person believes and however they live, that is the experience they create for themselves in the afterlife.”
“Like how ghosts are spirits of people who are holding on to something in this world?”
“Yeah like that, but it goes for everyone though. Plus I don’t think you need to listen to what religions tell you to do, in order to live your life the right way and get the afterlife you desire.”
“So what, you think people can do whatever they want, steal, rape and kill, and they can still go to heaven if that’s what they want?”
“If a person does all those things, then they are dwelling in a very dark place and they are creating a lot of painful emotions that will cling to them and that will become a part of what is in their afterlife. But it is all made up of things that they chose, not some punishments imposed by this celestial being.”
“So you don’t believe in God?”
“Not the way most people do. I don’t believe in the man with the white beard and the white robe. I don’t believe in the vengeful, wrathful, punishing father figure with human emotions like jealousy anger and the need for power over others. I don’t believe in a god that tests us by saying, “prove that you love me by killing your only son.” I don’t believe in a god that stacks up all our ‘sins’ and uses them against us. I don’t believe in a god that gives us this ’free will’ to do what we want, except that there is a right and wrong thing to do, and if we do the ’wrong’ thing, we get punished for it. This results in us making choices based on what ‘won’t get us in trouble’ rather than what we actually would choose to do.”
“So you think people should be allowed to do whatever they want, like kill?”
“How come whenever the subject of ‘doing whatever you want’ comes up, killing is the first thing on your mind? Is the fear of getting arrested or going to hell the only thing keeping you from killing? You know what, don’t answer that. (Sigh…) There are plenty of laws and commandments that say not to kill, and that doesn’t stop the people who do. All that image of ‘God’ does, is put fear in the hearts of people who are probably already good people to begin with.”
“So what do you think God is then?”
“It’s more than that. Way more. I haven’t quite been able to put it into words yet, but I have an idea. In a science textbook I read at some point, it had a definition of the Universe. I didn’t say, “all the stars and planets and dust and empty space,“ or anything like that. I simply said, “everything there is“. That’s how I think of God. God is everything, everywhere, every when. God isn’t just some being out there in space separate from us, God is us, and everything in between. I don’t know, it sounds kind of generic when I say it out loud, but the way I feel it and think about it, I know it’s true. Plus God is so vast that you can’t put human limitations on it and anyone who does, obviously has the wrong idea. I mean no limited human mind could perceive what God is. They think they can, but that is pride and their ego talking…”
“’They’…? What, like you aren’t human too?”
“…huh? Where was I? Oh yeah, so the conventional ideas of god and the afterlife are wrong, but my main point when I started all this was that, this life is not just a means to an end. We are not here to do a bunch of good deeds in order to earn as many “God Points” as we can, or to be tested to see if we are good enough to get into heaven, or whatever. We were given this life to do something, we are given this life for a purpose. And we do a great disservice to the creator that gave us this opportunity, by not making the most out of, and enjoying, all of the gifts given to us. And that’s what I’ve learned from all this. You can’t waste time in this life doing what everyone else thinks you should be doing. You should be doing what you are supposed to be doing. And that’s what I’m going to start doing.”
“What is it you are supposed to be doing?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but I know some of the things I’m NOT supposed to be doing. I can also tell when I am doing something right because of the feeling I get. Like this. This conversation. This realization. I feel great about this. This is right.”
“If it’s so right, then how come you still seem so upset?”
“Because I miss my friend.”
About an hour later, I get back to my house. When I go inside, I see my roommate in the living room watching TV. After some small talk, I finally get down to talking about what’s really on my mind.
“You know, I understand death. Death is not bad for those that died. They go on to another better place..”
“Heaven?”
“Or re-incarnation, or what ever.”
“Which one is it, do you think?”
“I think it depends on the person.”
“Like if they’re good they go to heaven, bad they go to hell, in between they get re-incarnated?”
“Kind of, but I don’t think it’s an absolute kind of thing. I don’t believe there is someone up there that decides, ‘you were bad, you go to hell’ or ‘you did what I wanted you to do, so you get to come chill with us in the clouds’. I think that whatever a person believes and however they live, that is the experience they create for themselves in the afterlife.”
“Like how ghosts are spirits of people who are holding on to something in this world?”
“Yeah like that, but it goes for everyone though. Plus I don’t think you need to listen to what religions tell you to do, in order to live your life the right way and get the afterlife you desire.”
“So what, you think people can do whatever they want, steal, rape and kill, and they can still go to heaven if that’s what they want?”
“If a person does all those things, then they are dwelling in a very dark place and they are creating a lot of painful emotions that will cling to them and that will become a part of what is in their afterlife. But it is all made up of things that they chose, not some punishments imposed by this celestial being.”
“So you don’t believe in God?”
“Not the way most people do. I don’t believe in the man with the white beard and the white robe. I don’t believe in the vengeful, wrathful, punishing father figure with human emotions like jealousy anger and the need for power over others. I don’t believe in a god that tests us by saying, “prove that you love me by killing your only son.” I don’t believe in a god that stacks up all our ‘sins’ and uses them against us. I don’t believe in a god that gives us this ’free will’ to do what we want, except that there is a right and wrong thing to do, and if we do the ’wrong’ thing, we get punished for it. This results in us making choices based on what ‘won’t get us in trouble’ rather than what we actually would choose to do.”
“So you think people should be allowed to do whatever they want, like kill?”
“How come whenever the subject of ‘doing whatever you want’ comes up, killing is the first thing on your mind? Is the fear of getting arrested or going to hell the only thing keeping you from killing? You know what, don’t answer that. (Sigh…) There are plenty of laws and commandments that say not to kill, and that doesn’t stop the people who do. All that image of ‘God’ does, is put fear in the hearts of people who are probably already good people to begin with.”
“So what do you think God is then?”
“It’s more than that. Way more. I haven’t quite been able to put it into words yet, but I have an idea. In a science textbook I read at some point, it had a definition of the Universe. I didn’t say, “all the stars and planets and dust and empty space,“ or anything like that. I simply said, “everything there is“. That’s how I think of God. God is everything, everywhere, every when. God isn’t just some being out there in space separate from us, God is us, and everything in between. I don’t know, it sounds kind of generic when I say it out loud, but the way I feel it and think about it, I know it’s true. Plus God is so vast that you can’t put human limitations on it and anyone who does, obviously has the wrong idea. I mean no limited human mind could perceive what God is. They think they can, but that is pride and their ego talking…”
“’They’…? What, like you aren’t human too?”
“…huh? Where was I? Oh yeah, so the conventional ideas of god and the afterlife are wrong, but my main point when I started all this was that, this life is not just a means to an end. We are not here to do a bunch of good deeds in order to earn as many “God Points” as we can, or to be tested to see if we are good enough to get into heaven, or whatever. We were given this life to do something, we are given this life for a purpose. And we do a great disservice to the creator that gave us this opportunity, by not making the most out of, and enjoying, all of the gifts given to us. And that’s what I’ve learned from all this. You can’t waste time in this life doing what everyone else thinks you should be doing. You should be doing what you are supposed to be doing. And that’s what I’m going to start doing.”
“What is it you are supposed to be doing?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but I know some of the things I’m NOT supposed to be doing. I can also tell when I am doing something right because of the feeling I get. Like this. This conversation. This realization. I feel great about this. This is right.”
“If it’s so right, then how come you still seem so upset?”
“Because I miss my friend.”
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