Secularize The Hotel Bible
Certainly our medieval peasant saints had a host of selfish vices and moments of violently marvelous malevolent fun. I can’t wait till my moments of unfairness are forgotten like diamond rings dropped somewhere in miles of beach sand, and my buried ill-mannered interactions are erased from memory and the record, and my deeds of assistance are sanded from the years from vaguely impressive to impressively vague, and the myth grows populating moral books and fables, and everyone eventually unknowledgably agrees I couldn’t of course have ever sinned.
Amongst the homeless and dying on the street somewhere here under a blanket and an awning against a closed business door is Jesus spending the night with a few coins in a cup and a missing sock mumbling to himself with cuss words and various threats to no one, swinging his arms wildly in the air fighting demons no one else can see, inviting all to come and be a disciple, and he is ignored by everyone.
Just as likely, God could be a soporific projectionist, and when your life ends the deity types up a credit roll of family and friends, and the reel is rewound up into an encased wheel and clasped shut, and stuck in the cabinet with a little label of your initials and date of birth and never watched again.
Everything finite is magnificent in its own way. The gods watch us, not us them.
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