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The Extraordinary Claims I’m Not Making

August 2, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, current events, freethought/humanism, friends, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), nature, politics, radio & podcasts, Recreation, sports, TV, Wow, YEE HAW!, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Extraordinary Claims I’m Not Making

Department Of Wishful (Wistful?) Thinking

Dateline: one week ago tonight, watching the Olympic Games opening ceremony.  As mentioned previously in this space, moiself  looooooooves to watch the Olympics Games; however, I almost never watch the opening or closing ceremonies.  I’m glad I did this time; I thought the French did an excellent job, despite the rain and the attempts at sabotage diversions.  If you missed the ceremony, try to find some footage of that beautifully strange and mesmerizing metal horse galloping down the Seine to deliver the Olympic flag.   [1]

 

 

I actually, embarrassingly, found my eyes tearing up at some points, during the speeches by the French Olympic organizers – words of encouragement and welcome to the athletes and spectators – wherein the hope for peace and the ability to set aside differences and come together for games and camaraderie was lauded.  Somehow, if only for a moment, those sentiments sounded more…plausible?…when spoken with French accent.

Reality of course reared its cynical head, when I recalled the Parade of Nations. The Parade of Nations is the main part of the opening ceremony where the participating countries’ teams enter the host country’s stadium in alphabetical order (as determined by the host country’s language).  The French did it differently, and more creatively IMO: instead of marching around a stadium, the over 10,000 athletes from 204 nations cruised in a flotilla of 94 boats down Paris’ Seine River.  Most of the boats carried the Olympic team members of at least two countries (and sometimes more, for the smaller nations).   I found that to be a cool idea, and it was great fun to see the teams mingling and rejoicing…until the narrator reminded us of the fact that Iraq and Iran should have been sharing a boat, seeing as how their respective countries’ names share 75% of their alphabet (even in the French language)…but nope, couldn’t do that.  And the Russian athletes were absent, their participation banned due to their dickhead of a dictator’s invasion of Ukraine.

 

“Dah, comrades, I am why we can’t have nice things.”

 

Moiself  is fairly certain that in Some Ancient Someone’s mythology, wars and other inter-tribal differences were settled via sporting events.  So, I’ll do the sit back relax and enjoy thing (confession: although I almost never watch daytime TV, for the next two weeks my TV will be on almost continually, tuned to the coverage of the you-know-what).  And maybe, just maybe, I’ll dream of a future mythology shared by all, in which disputes are settled by a heartfelt Women’s Rugby Sevens match, capped off with a haka.   [2]

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Another Reason To Be Optimistic

Have you ever heard multilingual Rhodes Scholar, army veteran, former mayor and presidential candidate and current Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg speak?  I get a wee twinge of hope whenever I hear him talk, on any issue.

Perhaps you saw him during the 2019 Democratic nominees debates, but have you heard him interviewed (as in his recent interview with the NY Times series, The Interview) , or at a press conference?  Did you know that Buttigieg accepts invitations to appear on Fox News to be interviewed by their shamelessly partisan hacks “journalists”?  He will accept invitations to speak in such a hostile environment, where many of his fellow politicians would say, “What’s the point?”, precisely because, as Buttigieg points out, the Fox News type of audience is not even going to *hear* the Democratic party message if no one is willing to take it to them.  He stays calm, remains rational, makes his points – which includes something I’d previously given little thought to:  remember, there is the possibility that person who controls the TV remote does not necessarily speak or think for his   [3]  entire household.  Translation:  just because the household TV is tuned to Fox News that doesn’t mean that every mind in the household is closed off to anything but the Fox News POV…but that’s all they will hear if no rational person is willing to speak to them.

I admire Buttigieg’s composure, intellect, ethics, ideas, and presentation.  And while this year is not yet his time for The Big Chair®, I’m looking forward to seeing Buttigieg serve in the Kamala Harris cabinet, and to having the opportunity to vote for him for president, four to eight to however many years from now.   [4]

*   *   *

Department Of, And Yet…

 

 

“Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.”
(Carl Sagan, in ITAL Broca’s Brain   [5])

You may be familiar with British mathematician, philosopher, author, and activist Bertrand  Burton Russell’s “china teapot argument.”  Russell used the argument-by-analogy to illustrate that the philosophic burden of proof lies upon a person making empirically unfalsifiable claims, as opposed to the burden of disproof being upon a person hearing such claims.

In the example of religion, Russell wrote that if he were to claim, sans offering verifiable evidence, that a teapot orbits the Sun somewhere between the Earth and Mars, he could not expect anyone to believe him solely because it would be difficult if not impossible to prove his assertion to be wrong.   [6]

“I ought to call myself an agnostic; but, for all practical purposes, I am an atheist. I do not think the existence of the Christian God any more probable than the existence of the Gods of Olympus or Valhalla. To take another illustration: nobody can prove that there is *not* between the Earth and Mars a china teapot revolving in an elliptical orbit, but nobody thinks this sufficiently likely to be taken into account in practice. I think the Christian God just as unlikely.”
( Absence of Evidence, Evidence of Absence, and the Atheist’s Teapot.  1958 Ars Disputandi. 10 (1): 9–22. doi:10.1080/15665399.2010.10820011. S2CID 37528278 )

Got it; absolutely agree.    [7]   I have no desire to even quasi-seriously entertain the idea that the natural world is the way it is because of the supernatural world (this is the tenets of all religions and spiritual beliefs in a nutshell    [8]  ),  and/or that there are supernatural beings which are capable of intervening in the affairs of the natural world (but evidently choose not to do so, or do so with an almost violent capriciousness   [9] ).

Given the evidence and statistical probabilities,   [10]   I can confidently assert that I do not “believe” there is a china or porcelain teapot – or a warm beverage-holding kettle of any composition – orbiting any celestial object in our solar system.  However, what with all the junk humanity has dumped/let escape into space in the past 70 years, it wouldn’t surprise moiself  if some alert amateur astronomer spots a rogue astronaut’s diaper (excuse me, Maximum Absorbency Garment   eeewwwwww) circling a satellite or even the International Space Station.

That said, moiself  can understand the appeal, if only from the point of view of a fiction writer, for holding on to such flights of fancy. There is much art to be made – many incredible flights of the imagination, from the whimsical to the grotesque, with which to entertain ourselves – in an orbiting-china-teapot world.

 

Remember, boys and girls, your tin foil hat will protect you should the teapot’s orbit disintegrate.

 

*   *   *

Department of Employee Of The Month

 

 

It’s that time, to bestow that prestigious award upon moiself.  Again. The need for which I wrote about here.   [11] 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [12]

“As established in the Constitution of The United States,
there are three branches of government.
Your religion is not one of them.”
( as per the legions of us often referred to as Anonymous )

 

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I hate it when I have to think about something that makes me want to quote nonsense to combat nonsense…which is something I try to avoid in this space because it takes me to dark places I’d rather not spend time and brain cells mucking through….

Such dark places include the sadly undeniable fact that some people who identify as Christians support a certain, carroty-tinged candidate. 

 

*   *   *

May you find hope in the existence of some young(er), sane, idealistic politician;
May you consider using a haka to celebrate your victories,
acknowledge your defeats, and settle your disputes;
May you enjoy the occasional foray into an orbiting teapot cosmos;

…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

*   *   *

[1] Not a very good description…you just have to see it for it to make sense.

[2]  There are a variety of hakas (ceremonial dances and shout-chants, usually performed by a group) Māori culture.   “The haka is commonly known as a war dance used to fire up warriors on the battlefield, but it’s also a customary way to celebrate, entertain, welcome, and challenge visiting tribes….it’s also a customary way to celebrate, entertain, welcome, and challenge visiting tribes. The very first New Zealand representative rugby team, known as The Natives, performed a haka during a tour of Britain and Australia in 1888-89. The haka performed then, Ka Mate, is still performed by the All Blacks (NZ rugby team) today.”  (History of Haka, experienceallblacks.com )

[3] “…or her”…nah.  It’s usually a he.

[4] He’s young – just 42!

[5]  Sagan’s dictum is related to Occam’s razor and other scientific and philosophical principles on how the weight of evidence for an extraordinary claim must be proportioned to the extraordinariness of the claim)

[6] Because the teapot is too small to be seen by our telescopes, for example, but really, it *could* be there, you just can’t see it.

[7] With minor quibbles as to the varying definitions for what one person may find “extraordinary.”

[8] Which is where most of them belong.

[9] and the causes of/reasons for these sporadic interventions vary among the various supernatural theologies (read: religions)….

[10] I’m not going to quote those here; I just wanted another footnote.

[11] Several years ago, MH received a particularly glowing performance review from his workplace. As happy as I was for him when he shared the news, it left me with a certain melancholy I couldn’t quite peg.  Until I did.

One of the many “things” about being a writer (or any occupation working freelance at/from home) is that although you avoid the petty bureaucratic policies, bungling bosses, mean girls’ and boys’ cliques, office politics and other irritations inherent in going to a workplace, you also lack the camaraderie and other social perks that come with being surrounded by your fellow homo sapiens.  No one praises me for fixing the paper jam in the copy machine, or thanks me for staying late and helping the new guy with a special project, or otherwise says, Good on you, sister. Once I realized the source of the left-out feelings, I came up with a small way to lighten them.

[12] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.  No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Parade I’m Not Saving From Inanity

July 5, 2024

Robyn Parnell community, current events, extended family, freethought/humanism, friends, general ruminations, Holidays, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), music, YEE HAW! , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Parade I’m Not Saving From Inanity

Department Of Belated Holiday Greetings

 Moiself  be typing this on July 4.  [1]   And I am typiing this at a time when most if not all of my fellow villagers are heading to procure their seats for Manzanita’s annual 4th of July parade.  As close friends and family know, I am a notorious Parade Loather. ®   Even as a child, I found parades boring, not to mention downright confusing.  Why are a bunch of people sitting on either side of a street, watching other people walk down the middle of the street?  But the small-town-ness of Manzanita’s parade has a certain charm, I was told.  Still, after watching it once to confirm that bit o’charm, I found that once was enough.

In 2018 I devised a way to tolerate the parade, and that was by walking in it.   [2]   Since I find parades to be nonsensical, a non sequitur outfit and ITAL raison d’etre seemed appropriate, and the legend of Orange Hat Woman With Spatulas ® was born.

 

 

For the years after that, when the pandemic forced the cancellation of the parade, on the 4th of July 4 I donned my OHWWS outfit and accoutrements, and marched in a circle in the street outside our house while MH played Stars and Stripes Forever     [3]   from our house’s stereo speakers and neighbors tossed paper airplanes across the street.   [4]

Someone who knows I was in the 2018 parade asked if I was going to this year’s parade. I told them the unvarnished truth:  “(IMO), parades are still inane; they’re only not inane when I’m marching in them; thus, this year’s parade will, once again, be inane.”

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Quote Of The Week

“When people are in a mindless state, they’re typically in error but rarely in doubt.”

That quote comes from a recent People I Mostly Admire podcast, wherein host Steve Levitt says about his guest, “I cannot think of an academic whose research findings have more consistently surprised me than my guest today.”

That guest (from PIMA’s episode, Pay Attention! (your body will thank you)  was Ellen Langer, the psychologist and researcher who studies the mind-body connection.  As per the Harvard Department of Psychology’s website, Langer “…is considered the mother of mindfulness…

 

Listen to your mother.

 

…and has written five books on the topic…. The Langer Lab conducts research on health, happiness, decision- making, education, business and culture all through the lens of mindfulness.”

Langer told the following story while talking with Levitt about the studies involving the alignment of Western scientific perspective with the eastern Buddhist perspective

Langer:
“Someone once called me, someone doing her PhD, and wanted to know, was mindfulness a fad?… I said, ‘OK, let’s say you burn your toast every morning. And then somebody comes along and shows you that all you need to do is turn the dial down a slight bit and then the toast is no longer going to burn. Is it a fad?’ I mean you’re not going to go back to burning your toast unless you prefer it that way.

It (mindfulness) is not just paying attention.  Because although attention is necessary, it’s not sufficient. There has to be the activity of coming to understand something that is novel, something that is new.

When I started to paint, prior to that, if someone had asked me what color are leaves, I would have said – mindlessly forgetting about the fall when leaves change colors – that leaves are green. Then I start painting, and I start seeing more. You look at trees, and there are hundreds of different color greens that change as the sun changes in the sky, changes in the seasons and so on. Once you wake up, there’s just so much more. Everything feels new and potentially exciting.”

Moiself  loves that sentiment.  A long-time Oregonian, I thought I knew green colors.  Then I traveled to Ireland, and saw in the land and flora a panoply of greens I didn’t know existed.

 

No picture can do it justice.

 

Even more thought-provoking was Langer’s response to Levitt’s question about the process of opening people up to the state of taking a mindfulness approach to life.  She listed three key steps:

(1) The respect for uncertainty ( as in, nobody knows everything for certain
 thus, everything is there to be found out);
(2) Noticing new things, particularly regarding surroundings and people you think
you are familiar with (e.g., notice three new things about the person you live with;
three different ways of doing whatever you’re doing. Look for multiple answers
to any question that you’re asked….)

Langer’s third suggestion is the most intriguing, and most problematic for all of us, I’d guess. It has to do with trying to learn conditionally and to *not* learn how we have been taught to learn – with absolutes, and with memorizing what we are told are unalterable facts.  The “fact” is that even facts are context dependent.  Any first grader will tell you that one plus one equals two.  Langer points out (my emphases) that one and one may be two, but if you’re using a base-two number system one plus one is written as 10. And if you have one pile of sand and add all of that pile of sand to another pile of sand, you don’t have two piles of sand, you have one.

Langer:
“How much is one plus one?… If you add one wad of chewing gum plus one wad of chewing gum, one plus one equals one. So now you have one plus one can be one, can be two, can be 10. ….
Imagine a teacher asks young students, ‘How much is one plus one?’ And little Stevie says, ‘One.’ What’s going to happen? In most classrooms, a teacher is going to try not to look at you like you’re stupid.  You’re going to feel uncomfortable, and possibly set the stage for a lifetime of feeling stupid. Where if the teacher were mindful, the teacher would say, ‘Little Stevie, how did you come to that?’ And then you’d say, ‘If you add one pile of sand to one pile of sand, one plus one is one.’ And now everybody would have learned something.
So everything we’re learning as absolutes makes us think we know, and we don’t know. And when you think you know, you no longer pay any attention. It makes us evaluative of other people who may see a different world.

 

Wait; if I combine these two bowls of guacamole I end up with only one bowl of guacamole?

 

*   *   *

Department Of More Podcast Jewels
Sub-Department Of You’re Not The Only One This Happens To

In the most recent Hidden Brain podcast, Befriending Your Inner Voice, host Shankar Vedantam discusses with his guest, Psychologist Ethan Kross, that most human of conditions:  the annoying, negative voice that goes round and round in your head.  That voice, which Kross calls chatter, is the one that keeps you up and night and makes it difficult to think of anything else once it gets switched on

Vedantam:
“…the phenomenon of self-doubt (which) in some ways that is also connected to chatter, the ways in which people who are actually very good at doing some things can start to  second guess themselves.  You tell the story of Mr. Rogers, on TV  he came across as serenely self-confident, but behind the scenes it was another picture altogether?”

Kross:
“Yeah, there’s this wonderful chatter artifact of sorts that the New York times published several years ago.  Fred Rogers had gone on a sabbatical a while from his show, and when he came back, he was filled with self-doubt, about whether he’d be able to perform at the same level that he did prior to taking this break.  And in this letter he writes to himself, he very, very candidly expresses that vulnerability.  He writes, ‘Am I kidding myself that I am able to write a script again?  I wonder.  Why don’t I trust myself?  After all these years, it is just as bad as ever.  I wonder if every creative artist goes through the torture of the damned trying to create?  Oh well; the hour cometh, and now *is* when I’ve got to do it.  Get to it, Fred; get to it.’

So, this is really remarkable to me…we’re talking about Mr. Rogers.  Mr. Rogers helped teach *me,* and countless other kids and adults too, how to manage my emotions growing up…and yet here we see him admitting to struggling with his own self-doubt at times…. This is such an important message to convey…it really says, ‘Hey, if you’ve ever experienced chatter; if you’ve ever experienced self-doubt, welcome to the human condition.’ “

 

“Please won’t you be my human condition neighbors, boys and girls?”

 

*   *   *

Department of Employee Of The Month

 

 

It’s that time, to bestow that prestigious award upon moiself.  Again. The need for which I wrote about here.   [5] 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [6]

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I hate it when those whose rhetoric and actions indicate that they know almost nothing   [7]   convince their followers that they know everything.

 

*   *   *

May we recognize when one plus one equals something other than two;
May you pay attention to that which you think you know all about;
May you appreciate the piccolos’ part in arguably the best march ever written;   [8]

…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

*   *   *

[1] y’all be reading this on the 5th or later. Thus, belated.

[2] Manzanita allows basically anyone to walk in the parade, by showing up at an assembly point for walkers (as opposed to those riding in vehicles or performing with groups)

[3] I hate parades, but I LOVE Stars and Stripes Forever.

[4] the latter in place of the Oregon Air National Guard, which, on that day, does a flyby over as many of Oregon’s July 4 parade towns as they can.

[5] Several years ago, MH received a particularly glowing performance review from his workplace. As happy as I was for him when he shared the news, it left me with a certain melancholy I couldn’t quite peg.  Until I did.

One of the many “things” about being a writer (or any occupation working freelance at/from home) is that although you avoid the petty bureaucratic policies, bungling bosses, mean girls’ and boys’ cliques, office politics and other irritations inherent in going to a workplace, you also lack the camaraderie and other social perks that come with being surrounded by your fellow homo sapiens.  No one praises me for fixing the paper jam in the copy machine, or thanks me for staying late and helping the new guy with a special project, or otherwise says, Good on you, sister. Once I realized the source of the left-out feelings, I came up with a small way to lighten them.

[6] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[7] Or that if they don’t know something, that something must not be worth knowing.

[8] All together now:  in Stars and Stripes Forever!

The Dream I’m Not Interpreting

June 28, 2024

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*   *   *

Department Of Referencing Moiself

The post is a part two, meant to be read as companion piece to part one, my post of 4-7-23 ( The Upbringing I’m Not Regretting ).  Cliff notes preview:  the subject for part two is my leaving “the church” – specifically, how I told my pastor (but first told moiself ) that I was doing so, via a dream that I’d had.

My dreams range from pastiches of images/seemingly random blurbs from the previous day’s events, to straightforward narratives of events or scenarios realized, to Cecil B. DeMille    [1] style, cast-of-thousands epics, with the occasional/random celebrity cameo.  I think that the scenarios and images contained in my dreams can be

*  both profound and significant, with my unconscious mind using my dreams to work on puzzles, or try to message my conscious mind;

*  due to the random firing of neurons stimulating the brain’s centers of memory and creativity;

* everything above and beyond and in between.

 

 

I had a class in college wherein dream interpretation was mentioned and briefly discussed, [2]   and for a couple of months after that, I kept a dream journal. Upon waking in the morning – or sometimes in the middle of the night, when one of my dreams was either so intense or ludicrous that my brain decided to rouse me from sleep with a what the hell was that? –  I wrote down whatever dreams I could remember. I wrote what I wrote and put that journal away until the next dream; I purposefully did not read the journal entries until several months had passed.  My idea was to try to view what I’d dreamed with new (or newer) eyes and perspective.

When I did go back and read them, I was astonished.  Employing images and scenarios that were in turns realistic, fanciful, or outrageous, my brain apparently was using my dreams to work out/try to identify ongoing dilemmas relating to my school studies, my job, my boyfriend(s), my relationships with my apartment mates, my past, present, and future…  Yeah, like, that would be, My Life ® .

My subconscious mind – likely the hippocampus, an area in the temporal lobe which is believed to be key in dreaming and imagination, and not to be confused with the part of a college where large semiaquatic mammals native to sub-Saharan Africa hang out….

 

“Are you sure this is the way to the dining commons?”

 

I’ll try that again.

My subconscious mind – likely the hippocampus, an area in the temporal lobe which is believed to be key in dreaming and imagination – knew things that my conscious mind was apparently unable or unwilling to deal with.  And in that sense, my dreams were my attempt to send a message to moiself.

Although I was fascinated (and at times embarrassed)  to read my dreams, I was busy with work and classes, and fell out of the habit of writing them down.  Then,

 

 

As in, Hillsboro, OR, one winter weekend morning almost twenty years ago.

Moiself  awoke in a state of some agitation.  As MH and I packed up the car and kids for our day trip to Mt. Hood, I asked if he would mind driving  as I needed to “…write something down.”  Once we were on the road I opened the blank spiral notebook I’d grabbed at the last minute and wrote down the source of my agitation: the early morning dream I’d had.

I hadn’t consistently written down my dreams since college. This time after writing down my dream I did not set the notebook aside, but read through it again…and again…and again.  Later that day, after we’d returned to Hillsboro, I told MH about my dream.  I told MH that my brain was sending me a gigantamous, face-palm of a message:

You.  Have.  To.  Leave.

You have to leave “the church;” as in, religious attendance and affiliation.

Your involvement has served its purposes (see 4-7-23 post for what that was).

Continued involvement, even in the liberal/progressive UCC, will not only give you
an increasingly severe case of cognitive and ethical dissonance but will
actually be harmful to the children you are trying to educate and raise with integrity.

I stopped going to church.

The pastor of the church (“Pastor D____”) our family attended was a person I liked and admired, as well as being one of the most well-read people I have ever met.  A month or so after I’d had the dream she called to ask me if she could take me to lunch to discuss why I had left the church.  Sure, I said, then asked if I could email her the narrative of my dream, so that she could read it before we met up.   [3]    Pastor D____ agreed, which probably accounted for the pleasant lunch that we had.

D____ in no way tried to refute or chastise me, or convince me that my decision was wrong.  In fact, she told me that after reading my account of my dream she’d realized that, “Yes, it’s true, you don’t belong in the church.”

 

 

Yup; really.

And we enjoyed our chai teas and the Indian restaurant’s ample lunch buffet, and talked about…other stuff.

Over the years I’d shared my perspectives on Christian theology with D____, and through my participation in the weekly nonfiction book   [4]  group that she led, she was aware that I was not a “true believer,” even when it came into the UCC’s liberal theological/social gospel interpretations.  What she was not aware of was that when it became my turn to serve as a deacon   [5]   and I was setting up for a church service, I would perform my own little acts of dissension, such as (but not limited to) the following.

In our church there was an enormous King James Bible kept on a platform behind the altar (the hefty tome had been donated by two church member in honor of their late son; the UCC is not a King James-ish denomination when it comes to bible translations ).   It was customary to have that bible open to the pages of whatever Old Testament reading had been chosen for that particular Sunday’s service (even though, with extremely rare exceptions, the laypersons doing the scripture readings did not read from that KJ bible).  When doing my Deacon set-up tasks, instead of opening that bible to the page(s) featuring the morning reading I would find a nearby page which contained a particularly odious passage, such as the Psalm which lauds dashing the infants of one’s enemies upon rocks ( Psalm 137) , or the Hebrew god’s directions of how and when to kidnap and rape women (Judges 21:10-24; Numbers 31:7-18, ad nauseum….) or the story of Yaweh sending bears to maul boys who had teased a prophet about his baldness (2 Kings 2:23)….

 


I hadn’t told Pastor D____ about that little petty prank of mine.   I had told her other things, and she’s always assured me that those beliefs/disbeliefs of mine, those “arguments” I had with the tents of religion, were exactly why my presence and perspective was needed in church.  Thus, during our lunch, after having read my dream, D____ apparently felt no need to discuss my reasons with me. She did say at one point that while it came as a disappointment to her that I was leaving (the church), it did *not* come as a surprise, considering how I’d “…made many close friendships with __________”  (she named several people who had attended the church at one point, and then left).

Much like writing down a dream, setting it aside and thinking about it later, that remark of Pastor D___’s came back to me.  When I shared it with MH, he reached the same conclusion about/interpretation of it, as moiself:

“In a way it’s like she *wants* you to go,
before you stay longer and influence others to leave as well.”

And now, the dream (followed by my thoughts about it, written later that same day, after I’d reread what I’d written):

*   *   *

The Dream ® :  early Wednesday morning, April 20, 2005

I am looking at an old house that is for sale.  Design or style-wise, it is a combination Victorian and what I call “Grandma house,” with many classic features, from the glass & brass doorknobs to hardwood floors, moldings, built-ins, and exceptional woodwork.

Pastor D___ is showing me the house.  I’m unclear as to whether she is selling it; i.e., whether it is her house that is for sale, or whether she is acting as an agent for another party.  The house has been newly remodeled and upgraded; I glance out a window and see workmen, their trucks parked in front of the house, packing up ladders and painting supplies.  D___ tells me about the new plumbing and points out the fresh paint in many of the rooms and talks about the upgrades, which are very eye-catching.

Then I see the basement/first floor (I’m not sure which it was; we seemed to start touring the house in the middle floor, and the house had at least three floors), and I am astonished.  The basement/ground floor is an absolute disaster.  Its wooden flooring is old and rotting; paint has been randomly flung on the walls; floorboards and moldings are missing or pulled out and splintered, light fixtures are missing or damaged, woodchips and sawdust litter the floors….  I ask D____ if the remodeling will be finished soon, possibly by the workmen I’d seen outside?  No, she tells me, they are packing up and not returning – they’re finished with this particular house.

D____ senses my disappointment, and points out that I can finish the job myself or hire another remodeling crew…and then she offers to lower the price to $305,000. (I can’t remember the asking price, but it was a good deal higher).  I know that 305k would be a good price – a great deal, really – for that kind of house, if the house was in top condition, but its ground floor needs BIU extensive work, and I have neither the time, the skills, nor the desire to do it myself.  I add up the time, materials and labor costs, estimating what it would take to get the floor in shape (I’ve been looking at similar style houses for some time and have comparison prices in my head) and am quite discouraged, as it would be less costly to just tear the place down and start over.

I tell D____ that I appreciate her showing me the house, and while it may be a good price for what it is, I just can’t buy it.

*    *    *   

I just can’t buy it.

How obvious can my subconscious get?!?!  The last line of my dream, not-so-subtly screaming out what’s been eating at me.

(And it is about what’s eating me.  Despite K’s and Belle’s discussing their objections to bible-religion/”church stuff” with me over the years, they were not in the dream, nor was MH.)

I like many things about the UCC Hillsboro congregation in particular and the UCC denomination in general.  But, for all our/their remodeling, they are still a Christian church in a Christian denomination, and the ground floor — Christian theology in particular, religion in general — is, to me, a mess:  archaic, in shambles, needing to be replaced or simply razed.  I also love, respect and admire Pastor D____ for what she is, and for what she does and tries to do.  I appreciate the “deal” she has made for (people like) me, but I can’t buy it.  I can’t buy Christianity – even the laissez-faire, UCC brand – for what it is.

I’m certain that there have been several recent triggers for this dream, including the Sunday when a family from our kids’ school attended our church.  There was a baptism, and I remembered experiencing discomfort and even embarrassment on their behalf (or mine?)  when I listened to – actually paid attention to –  the baptism liturgy and thought, yet again, I don’t believe this stuff.   That the “waters of baptism” confer any special blessing or standing – that’s voodoo/chicken bones talk.  Much if not all of it is symbolic and/or metaphorical, I realize, but that’s not what was said (and then, what’s the point for using the symbols and metaphors?).  The new member class I attended (as a longtime member who was there to meet potential new members) also brought uncomfortable issues to mind, as does almost any meeting where church policy related to theology is discussed.  The new member attendees were all pleasant people, but listening to their experiences and ideas of what a church is or should be was awkward for me.  When ZM mentioned how she was unfamiliar with the Bible, having grown up in a Hindu household, and was learning about it through the children’s sermon and her daughter’s children’s Bible, I found myself wanting to blurt out, RUN FOR THE HILLS!!!, or at least, “Don’t go any further than the kiddie version, or you might not like what you find.”

These feelings are nothing new to me.  Participating in a “worship” service of any kind has always been a matter of toleration, as I find the whole concept itself to be silly at best.  I don’t know what this means in terms of practical application; it’s not like I feel I must Leave The Church ®  this very moment.***  I think they/we are mostly trying to do good in the world, and I enjoy the community.  But the intensity of my concerns has increased…and it’s not just a social club, it’s a church.  The community, as nice as I may find the members, is based on and organized around the false premises of religion, and I’m not good at pretending to not know what I know.

The intellectual dishonesty of the rationale for continuing to participate in church stuff – to support a more liberal group to help counter the Right/conservative religious voice (aka the  “voting for moderates” justification, as per MH’s reason for why he remains registered as a Republican) –  is no longer enough, for me.  By being part of a religion, even a relatively progressive one, I lend credence to ideas that, in their application, are dangerous and just plain wrong, including

(1)  the standards of reason, judgment and evidence I apply to every other facet of life may be set aside for matters of “faith;”

(2)  extraordinary propositions can be believed without evidence;

(3)  that, by applying interpretation and razor’s edge scholarship (read: by rationalizing myth, fallacy, ignorance and atrocity) the Christian bible – or anyone’s bible –  is an appropriate and even a good lens through which humanity may view present day circumstances.

 

*   *   *

*   *   *

 

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [6]

When I became convinced that the Universe is natural – that all the ghosts and gods are myths, there entered into my brain, into my soul, into every drop of my blood, the sense, the feeling, the joy of freedom. The walls of my prison crumbled and fell, the dungeon was flooded with light and all the bolts, and bars, and manacles became dust. I was no longer a servant, a serf or a slave. There was for me no master in all the wide world – not even in infinite space.
I was free – free to think, to express my thoughts – free to live to my own ideal – free to live for myself and those I loved — free to use all my faculties, all my senses – free to spread imagination’s wings – free to investigate, to guess and dream and hope – free to judge and determine for myself –  free to reject all ignorant and cruel creeds, all the “inspired” books that savages have produced, and all the barbarous legends of the past – free from popes and priests – free from all the “called” and “set apart” – free from sanctified mistakes and holy lies – free from the fear of eternal pain – free from the winged monsters of the night – free from devils, ghosts and gods. For the first time I was free.

(as quoted, in Leaving Christianity, from Why I Am Agnostic, by Robert Green Ingersoll.  Ingersoll [1833-1899], nicknamed “the great agnostic,” was American politician and orator, humanistic and scientific rationalism philosopher during the Golden Age of Freethought    [7]  )

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I love it when my dreams are stylishly consistent.

Example: Godzilla once had a cameo in a dream of mine.  The dream had started in color, switched to black and white during Godzilla’s scene, then went back to color when Godzilla left.  Up until then, the only Godzilla movies I’d seen were filmed in B & W.

 

 

*   *   *

May you remember the dreams that are worth remembering;
May you remember that any dream you remember is worth remembering;
May you pay attention to what your subconscious is telling you;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

*** Even though I did.

[1] Am I dating moiself  with that reference? Should I use Spielberg, or Nolan, or Cameron, or the casts-of-thousands directors of today?  But then, today’s cast of thousands are maybe a cast of 6 actual actors with 1,974 CGIs….

[2] The jist of the discussion being that no dream can “mean” anything out of context for the one doing the dreaming – no object in th dream “represents” any thing or idea for all people.  Or as that influential but misogynistic man of his times/founder of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud once admitted, Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

[3] I made no formal proclamation of dissociation or anything like that; I didn’t even really tell anyone. I just stopped going.  MH was not ready to do the same, so he continued for a few weeks, taking the kids at first.  When our offspring realized they had a choice, they elected to stay home with me.  We were all still in the habit of having a certain amount of hours set aside on Sunday, and used that time to go to nearby city park, taking our trigger-handled trash grabbers and large trash bags.  We’d roam the grounds of the park,  picking up the plethora of garbage (fast food wrappers, beer bottle caps, etc.) which the park users somehow neglected to escort to the park’s many and ample trash bins. 

[4] Subjects ranging from science and theology, comparative religion, religious history, critiques of religion….

[5] Duties vary widely between denominations and congregations, but generally a deacon is a church member who helps out the pastor and/or church members with, for example, setting up the sanctuary for the church service and then cleaning up afterward.

[6] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[7]  “The Golden Age of Freethought is the mid-19th-century period in United States history which saw the development of the socio-political movement promoting freethought. Anti-authoritarian and intellectually liberating historical eras had existed many times in history, notably in eighteenth century France. But the period roughly from 1875 to 1914 is referred to by at least one contemporary writer as “the high-water mark of freethought as an influential movement in American society”….   Freethought is a philosophical position that holds that ideas and opinions should be based on science and reason, and not restricted by authority, tradition, or religion. It is characteristic of the 18th century Enlightenment but hardly confined to any one epoch or place. The late nineteenth century American Golden Age was encouraged by the lectures of the extremely popular agnostic orator Robert Green Ingersoll, the popularization of Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species, the push for women’s suffrage, and other political, scientific, and social trends that clashed with religious orthodoxy and caused people to question the traditional ideas about the world that they encountered in received opinion.”  (excerpts, Wikipedia, The Golden Age of Freethought )

The Husband I’m Not Tempting

June 21, 2024

Robyn Parnell are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), community, current events, exercise & fitness, extended family, family life, foodie, freethought/humanism, friends, Isms (religion), movies, music, Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, school, science, The Write Stuff (literary life), theatre, TV, Wow, YEE HAW!, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Husband I’m Not Tempting

Department Of Belated Summer Wishes

Happy Summer Solstice to all!  And to my fellow yogis, if this tradition is in your practice, I hope you had a memorable 108 Sun Salutations.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Get Thee Behind Me, Satan
Sub-Department Of Stop Tempting My Husband, Bitch

Dateline: Saturday morning, circa 8 am, sitting at the breakfast table with MH.  MH picks up his copy of yesterday’s (Saturday) NYT crossword puzzle, which he hasn’t yet finished; he works on it a bit, then tells me he’s stuck with the 49 across clue and the down clues which cross the answer are not helping him.

Moiself  did the puzzle yesterday but can’t remember the clue.  MH reads it to me:

” ‘Noted tempter’ …I  can’t figure out the missing vowel;
I have “S _ _ AN.  Susan?  Susan is a noted tempter?”

He’s serious, and I can’t stop laughing.

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Another Family Contemplation Of The Theory Of Relativity
Sub-Department Of My Daughter, The Content Creator

Dateline: Tuesday am.  We’ve had some home maintenance projects – new gutters and downspouts installed/exterior house painting – that are 99% completed.  MH shared pictures of the house exterior on our family’s message board, so that our offspring could see the progress.  The following hijinks exchange ensued.

MH:
All done. Except for a gutter adjustment tomorrow.

Moiself:
Actually/unfortunately, the gutter adjustment isn’t until Thursday.

MH:
I’m living in an alternate timeline.

(daughter) Belle:
If you don’t actually go to sleep tonight, then maybe Thursday is tomorrow?

Moiself:
Don’t go getting all quantum time bending on us.

Belle:
Is time a fixed variable that we have no influence over? Or is it a mutable part of the universe that we simply haven’t figured out how to manipulate yet?  Is our perception of time the definition of it?  So many things to consider.
But yeah, for now we’ll just say Thursday.

Moiself:
This conversation is so going in my blog.

 

Yeah, but what time is dinner?

*   *   *

Department Of The Best Pasta Shape Ever   [1]

That would be Sfoglini’s reginetti.  Soon I will be ordering another case of it (the whole grain, which is my fave) because I’m down to three boxes, and moiself  cannot be reginetti-less.

What is not to love about this shape – it’s like a teensy-weensy lasagna noodle.  Makes me happy just to look at it.

 

*   *   *

Department Of I Respectfully But Vehemently Disagree

Moiself  recently heard a Tony-nominated playwright interviewed on an NPR show ,   [2]  during which he talked about his years of struggle to write his play, and how he scraped by due to the kindness of friends.  He used his experience as an example of why “we need government funding” of the arts.  I guess he meant we need more funding than we already have ?  For as I heard him whine speak about the subject, I wondered if he was somehow not aware of the NEA and other state and local government grants and funds, as well as the hundreds of private individuals and organizations offering artistic grants and funding?

 

 

Dateline: Sunday evening watching the latter half of the 77th annual Toni awards. There is that same playwright – David Adjmi, accepting a Tony award his award for Best Play for Stereophonic.  In his acceptance speech, Adjmi gushed about how “this was a very hard journey, to get this play up here….” and named the friends who let him sleep on their couch for seven years so that he could write the play, and then, again:

“It’s really hard to make a career in the arts; we need to fund the arts in America – it is the hallmark of a civilized society….”

Admi brought himself to tears as he recalled his struggle.  Of course when he made the plea for funding there was the obligatory applause from Supporters Of The Arts ®, who must whoop it up reverently with their version of, say amen.  Preach, brother!

As I do with most preaching, be it religious or artistic, I’m listening, then thinking…

 

 

Adjmi decries how hard it is to earn a living in the arts. This is nothing new; it always has been hard to earn a living in the arts.  It always should be hard to earn a living in the arts.

I’m not denying his or any composer, singer, actor, writer, painter, potter or other artist’s struggle.  I *am* calling for all who have chosen to pursue their art to check their privilege – their sense of exceptionalism –  if they think, for whatever reason, that their particular job should not be a struggle, and/or is deserving of endowment.

Struggle is the common lot of most people in the working world, who do not receive any kind of artistic accolades nor have opportunites, e.g., award shows, for public forums in which they may complain about their struggles. They plow the fields, fix the cars bag the groceries manufacture the semi-conductors, empty the bedpans, collect the lab results, interpret the data, bake the bread, comfort the bereaved, put out the fires, clean the kettles, sweep the movie theaters, mend the crab pots, patrol the demilitarized zones…

Adjmi didn’t mentioned receiving financial aid or grants for Stereophonic, and his play’s success belies his plea for funding.  Somehow, he managed to produce this work of art without the government’s help – and  let us always remember that the translation of “the government,” means the tax dollars of moiself and y’all.

Save for those rare artists born to wealth (or the nepotistic receivers of artistic funding and opportunities), life in any artistic field has always been that of financial struggle before commercial success (and often afterward), usually involving multiple side jobs and other means of support.  How would the playwright who thinks there should be more public funding of the arts, and others who hold similar sentiments, define what would constitute more support of “the arts,” and who will get to define what is an art worthy of support, and which artists will get support, and for what length of time such support is given….?

There are museums and art galleries wherein I’ve lingered for hours, and others I’ve fled after15 minutes because, content, meh.  I’m a fan of performing arts and patronize live music, theater and other events.  There’ve been plays and concerts I’ve attended/movies I’ve seen where I left feeling entertained and even aesthetically transformed, and others – even a few ones which won prestigious awards and were recommended by “everyone”  [3]  –   where I left during intermission, or if I forced myself to stay to the bitter end, I left the venue thinking, Holy imaginative waste of time, how did this piece of embarrassingly trivial, reductionist, hackneyed crapola ever get produced? It’s a bad enough that I spent money on a ticket, but to subsidize this playwright’s/director’s/performer’s delusion that they are “artists” worthy of third party “support”….?

 

 

Sorry, starving artists.  Eat less, get a second job, a third job, a patron, a couch to surf on.  Struggle, like the rest of us. Government support for the arts? You take their money, you play by their rules.  In Russia during the USSR era there was little art seen by the public apart from that which was funded – or allowed – by the government.  Remember any great works of socialist realism that came out of the Soviet-sponsored art?

Socialist Realism
A form of modern realism imposed in Russia by Stalin following his rise to power after the death of Lenin in 1924, characterized in painting by rigorously optimistic pictures of Soviet life painted in a realist style

The doctrine was formally proclaimed by Maxim Gorky at the Soviet Writers Congress of 1934, although not precisely defined. In practice, in painting it meant using realist styles to create highly optimistic depictions of Soviet life. Any pessimistic or critical element was banned…. It was quite simply propaganda art, and has an ironic resemblance to the Fascist realism imposed by Hitler in Germany (see ITAL Entartete Kunst – degenerate art       [4] ).

(excerpt from the Tate Museum’s “Socialist Realism,” https://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/s/socialist-realism  )

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [5]

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I love it when I come across a new (to me) George Carlin witticism; I hate it when I remember that Carlin died years ago and isn’t here to reflect on today’s wackadoodle.

*   *   *

May you have strength when tempted by Susan;
May your art remain free of government supports and constraints;
May you decide to have a favorite pasta shape;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

[1] As decreed by the Most Omnipotent Italian Saucy  Epicurean  Loving  Foodie,  as in, moiself.

[2] Can’t remember which program…a Fresh Air interview, most likely?

[3] for example, not to deny the creativity and hard work of Lin Manuel Miranda, but I couldn’t abide Hamilton (or In the Heights) – both of which I so wanted and expected to like (or maybe, thought I *should* like).  With the rapid-fire, rap-ish dialog, I felt like the cast was shouting at me the whole time.

[4] Degenerate art ( Entartete Kunst)  is the label the Nazis applied to art they didn’t approve of – any art which did not extol or depict “Kinder, Küche, Kirche” ( family, home and church), which was the Nazi party’s and Hitler’s view of the virtues of German life. 

[5] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Whale Carcass I’m Not Exploding

May 31, 2024

Robyn Parnell community, current events, freethought/humanism, friends, Me so happy, nature, Oregon, science, Wow, YEE HAW!, Yikes! , , Comments Off on The Whale Carcass I’m Not Exploding

Department Of Is It Possible To Write An Entire Blog Post
Centered Around Exploding Whales?     [1]

 

 

Behold, Exhibit A.   [2]

 

 

 

Meanwhile, Oregonians ready their supply of dynamite…   [3]

 

 

 

It’s a state tradition.

 

 

 

Oregon has a proud history of exploding whales, including a lesser-known incident which occurred 33 years earlier, in Warrenton, on Sept. 1, 1937.  Unfortunately, no news footage has been found of that particular event.

“A large dead whale floated onto a tidal flat beach on August 18 (1937). …At first this whale was a big hit. Many flocked to check it out, and Warrenton was digging its new tourism draw. But that slacked off rather quickly as the creature began rotting in the summer sun. Soon, the entire burgh of Warrenton was getting hit with the stench and by the last few days of August it was a nasty, pervasive odor.

According to various newspaper reports, Warrenton sought the help of the State Highway Department in removing the smelly carcass…state officials said no (the highway department only had jurisdiction over the ocean shores and not the tide flats where the whale ended up). So Warrenton turned to the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). Locals hoped the CCC boys would burn the carcass, ‘but they balked after the Clatsop County court decided the highway department first must give its permission.’

Warrenton official G. Clifford Barlow was practically livid at this point. ‘Something has to be done to destroy the whale because of the increasing stench,’ he wrote in a letter to the highway department.

So locals turned to dynamite. You can guess where this is heading. They snagged a ‘powderman’ as news reports called him, a man named A. W. Foster from Portland. He volunteered, actually.

A large crowd had gathered, and as The Eugene Guard (later Register-Guard) put it ‘Like the crowds that rush to a fire, a lot of people stuck their noses into something that didn’t concern them at Warrenton last night, much to their own chagrin.’

The 53-foot whale sat stinking to high heaven as Foster placed some 500 pounds of dynamite around it, hit the button and….

Boom.

Blubber did indeed blast into the air. The Guard’s headline was ‘Whale Splatters … Crowd Scatters.’  The explosion ‘scattered Warrenton’s dead whale all over the landscape of Clatsop Beach.’ The next day the paper ran another blurb and proclaimed it was a ‘noisy funeral.’

The Oregonian notes ‘tourists arrived and departed hurriedly’    [4]   because of the smell and the raining chunks.  he day after the big boom locals flooded Astoria’s ‘cleaning and dyeing shops’ and ‘automobiles were lined up waiting for their chance at auto steam-cleaning laundries.’

In other words, towns folk were soaked in whale guts and goo, as were their cars.  Still, locals considered the explosion a success, with tons of pieces scattering in all the right places, into bite-sized morsels perfect for local meat-eaters like gulls and such. At least a ‘success’ is how regional papers described it.”
( excerpts, Exploding Whale history, beachconnection.net news  )

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [5]

 

  ( Artist and conservationist Robert Wyland )    [6]

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I love it when I have the chance to visit Florence, Oregon, home of The Exploding Whale Memorial Park.

 

 

*   *   *

 

May you have (or make) the opportunity to visit Florence, OR;
May you never have a reason to be one of those tourists
who “arrived and departed hurriedly;”
May you appreciate the fact that the American classic novel, Moby Dick,
was about chasing a whale and not trying to blow it up;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Don’t make moiself  answer that challenge.  Oops, too late.

[2] Yes, it’s possible, and likely welcome, after the verbosity of last week’s post.

[3] As of this writing, there have been no plans announced for the whale carcass’s disposal.

[4] Sometimes, words are worth a thousand pictures.

[5] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.  No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[6] Important to remember:  listen for the heartbeat of the planet *before* the whale explodes, not after.

The Dawn I’m Not Cracking

May 24, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, community, extended family, family life, freethought/humanism, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), politics, school, science, Wow, YEE HAW!, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Dawn I’m Not Cracking

Department Of This Is Neither Here Nor There,
But Now It’s Here

Some Well-Meaning Person ® didn’t deserve the answer they got when they asked this question about my sleeping schedule:

WMP®:
“So then, you get up at the crack of dawn?”

Moiself:
“It’s more like I get up at the butt crack of dawn.”

 

 

*   *   *

 

*   *   *

 

Department Of The Mormon Witnessing Story

Not as in, moiself  witnessing to Mormons, or Mormons trying to witness to moiself  (hmm, department of, this department needs a better title?).  This story involves me being a witness to some folk who were attempting to “witness” (read: condemn and harass) a local Mormon congregation, which I somehow manage to link to the story of what happened to my offspring when they visited relatives for a weekend.

Background for the Mormon witnessing story:  a Cliff’s Notes version of why happy heretic moiself  and MH used to be members of a Christian church, and took our children there regularly, for many years.  I’ve known for decades – as far back as when I was a stellar Lutheran Sunday school student    [1]    –  that I am not a religious believer.  However, similar to the experience of many “I-knew-I-was-gay-in-the-third-grade” LGBTQ folk, I mostly kept my non (and even anti-) religious thoughts to moiself,  as there were few-to-no options or role models when it came to being out of that particular closet.  It seemed obvious to moiself, even/especially as a young’un, that myth and superstition ruled the world; thus, the choice (which children don’t have, until they fledge) was to align yourself with the denomination with the least whackadoodle worldviews.

 

 

MH once explained to a friend, who’d questioned MH on his political registration as a Republican despite MH supporting so many causes antithetical to true conservatives, that he felt a duty to support moderate viewpoints within an influential institution that seemed in danger of slipping even further to the right.    [2]    A similar analogy applies as to why MH and I took our children to a church.

More than one friend or family member has asked moiself, why did I   [3]   join a Christian church ( a very liberal/progressive one, but still, a Christian church) and take my kids to it for years, despite knowing for as far back as I remember thinking about such things (if not for all of my life) that I was not a religious believer?  Well….when MH and I were preparing to have children, I realized that not that much seemed to have changed since I was a child:  religious ideas still seemed to run the world; thus, I wanted my kids to get some firsthand knowledge of it…even as I viewed it (religion) in terms of a disease.  That is, my participation in religion and allowing my kids to experience and learn about religion was done from a medicinal POV. 

 

Yes, really. 

Part of the reasons MH and I joined a church and stayed for so long (until our children were ages 12 and 9, respectively), is that we wanted them to choose or reject religion from knowledge, not ignorance.  Despite (or perhaps, because of ) my conclusions as to the false premises of religion,    [4]   I wanted K and Belle to have an opportunity to learn firsthand about religion.  I thought it was important that they understand religion as a common human/cultural expression and institution, but also important that they be kept free of the repulsive ideas common to most religions, such as they would either be rewarded in a heaven or punished in a hell based on what they think about religion ( thus we joined a “liberal” Christian denomination, the UCC    [5]  ).

We did it as a form of inoculation; we wanted K and Belle to get an education about our nation’s dominant religion, but not in a church where they would hear theologies of condemnation and damnation for those who didn’t agree with cognitive absurdities certain theological tenants.  Frankly, I thought it was (and still think it is  [6]  ) better to expose your children to a relatively benign form of Christianity, like that of the UCC (United Church of Christ denomination) or the Liberal Quakers, than to completely avoid religion.  I have heard this practice referred to as the smallpox theory of religion:  exposure to a mild form of religion is likely to inoculate your children against more virulent forms of religion.  If they didn’t get a mild dose of religion when they were young they might catch a more extreme form of it later on.

 

 

So:  I was a member of a weekly morning book study group at that afore-mentioned UCC church.  Over ten+ years the group read and discussed a theology/comparative religion Ph.D.  student’s worth of books analyzing and comparing (and sometimes rebutting) religious history and theology.   [7]   One morning as the book group session was ending, a church member (who was not a book club member) stopped by to tell us she’d seen something she thought we should know about.  The previous evening she’d read a newspaper story about a group of traveling evangelists who were holding tent revival meetings near the local fairgrounds, and after the meeting the leaders of the revival would go and “witness to” (in the form of picketing outside) churches that they considered to be heretical (Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses, and others.  [8] )  That morning on her way to work she’d driven on a road which passed the local Mormon church, and she saw protestors on the road outside of the church, holding up signs that….condemned the church and its members?  She wasn’t sure; the signs were hard to read, and the road had no safe place to pull over, so she just slowed down and took note.  She wanted to alert us as to what seemed to her to be an obvious case of harassment…and maybe we could do something, show support for those being picketed?

 

 

That piqued moiself’s  interest; after I returned home from book group I did an online search for the news story and found pictures of the traveling revival group (members of a Christian denomination I’d never heard of).  At first, I thought the pictures were historical…or just a case of someone playing dress-up.  The group leaders – all male, of course – were attired in 18th century garb:  black wide-brimmed hats, black duster-length jackets, black pants, black vests over white shirts, skinny bolo-style ties, and black boots.

Later that day, after picking up K from his preschool, I decided to drive by the Mormon church.  Sure enough, there were five men who could have passed for Johnny Cash groupies or impersonators (except that they held signs instead of guitars), picketing on the sidewalk on the east side of the road, by the church’s front lawn.  No other cars were on the road; no pedestrians; no sign of any occupants in the church (whose parking lot was completely empty).  I pulled my car over on the west side of the road, turned off the engine and told K, who was sitting in the back seat, that I wanted to check something and would be back in a sec (he was engrossed in his coloring book; I don’t know if he even heard me).

I had no intention to debate theology (or anything else) with those Men In Black.  I was simply and genuinely curious to find out what their signs said.  What were they doing there, and why?  Did they want to talk with actual Mormons, or just protest, or…?   As I began to cross the street one of the MIB saw me, and began to march toward me.  As I beheld his face, all comparisons to Johnny Cash (except sartorial) fled my mind.

 

 

The man’s eyes were dark, piercing, wild, burning with hatred; his neck veins were visible, purple and throbbing, and he snarled at me, his voice feral with rage:

“What are you doing?!?!?
Get back in your car!  Unless you’re here to help, go away!”

I was taken aback, and tried to respond with a reasonable voice, the kind mental health intervention officers use to talk a potential suicide jumper down from a bridge.

“Everything’s okay…I’m just wondering what your signs say, and what you’re ….”

His voice took on an even more menacing tone as he shifted his grip on the sign he held.  He wielded it like a sword as he approached me.

“GO AWAY NOW !”

Holy shit, I thought, is this looney going to brain me with his Mormon blah blah blasphemy blah blah child molester blah blah hell  sign ?   [9]   I slowly walked backwards ( no way was I turning my back to this psycho ) and flung some vitriol of my own before getting in my car:

“Oh, go home and pray!”

 

 

I know, right?

The thing is, I was shaking as I drove home, and for at least an hour afterward.  That encounter had triggered my fight-or-flight reflexes.  It’s difficult to describe, but I’d seen it before:  “it” being that look of righteous, bloodthirsty, savage certainty in that man’s eyes, and in the eyes of Nazi soldiers who were photographed herding Jews and other “undesirables” to a concentration camp; in the gleam in the eyes of the White mob smirking at the camera as they posed by the bodies of the Black men they’d lynched; in the leering, gleeful expressions of the faces in paintings and woodcuts of the priests torturing heretics and the pastors hurling charges of witchcraft against the women they were preparing to burn; in the news pictures of Rwandan Hutus holding the clubs they used to brain their fellow Rwandans (Tutsis) whom they called “cockroaches”… It is a look found in believers across many political and cultural spectrums but which is made even worse – even more deadly – in religious ideologies, which carry added weight via adherents believing they are follow the holy orders of a deity who holds their lives in its hands.

My body shook with an instinctual recognition of danger: of how that man’s eyes broadcast that he was doing the righteous bidding of his angry god, and he would have no problem crushing me if he thought I was in his way.  It was the same shaking I recognized in the voice of my son K, several years later, when he told me about an incident he found disturbing, and frightening.

 

 

Dateline: Several years after that “Mormon witnessing” event.  My sister (“YS”) had invited my son K and my daughter Belle to spend a long weekend with her family (her and her husband and their four children, two of whom are K’s and Belle’s respective ages).  My kids didn’t see their cousins often (they lived 600+ miles away from us) and were eager to spend more time with them.  As I helped my kids pack for their flight, I let them know that, seeing as how it was a weekend visit, it was likely that they would be expected to attend YS’s family’s church on Sunday.  Both K and Belle gave long suffering, oh brother/the-things-we-do-for-family sighs.  I knew YS and hubby held conservative religious beliefs, so I thought it prudent to warn inform my offspring that “their church is different from the one you’re used to…it’ll probably be no big deal, maybe even interesting…. And if there are things said or done that you find strange, just pretend to be cultural anthropologists:  you don’t have to say anything, just observe, and take notes, on a new experience.”

That weekend, K the budding anthropologist got an eye-and-earful, and I got the latter, when K’s time at YS’s church was over.  Under the guise of being homesick, K asked YS if he could use their phone to call me.  He did so from the privacy of YS’s bedroom, and from his first two words I could tell that he was distraught.  K spoke in run-on sentences; he was upset, something about YS’s church…. I got him to calm down, take a few deep breaths, and tell me what happened.  What had he seen or heard that upset him?   One of the things that bothered him the most, he said, was wondering about about his relatives:  “Is this what they think, do they really believe *this*?

*This* turned out to be a basic tenet of almost all religions:  Believing in our theology/scriptures/god is the correct and only way to believe, and those who believe elsewise are wrong, and doomed, and need “saving.”

*This* also turned out to be the focus of the Sunday School class K attended.   [10]

K was in the Sunday School class with his same age cousin, “Oscar.” Just K’s luck, the class topic of the day was witnessing to non-Christians.  Righgt from the get-o, K found the teacher to be a bloviating ignoramus.  K sat in his chair, seething quietly, as the teacher

– described the many ways “non-Christians” are missing out on life and what will happen to them for “rejecting Jesus;”
-expressed his opinions-as-facts about what Buddhist and other “false religions” believe;
– told his students that it was the duty of Christian kids to witness to their friends, family and classmates in order to “save” them.

Several times K bravely raised his hand and, when called upon, challenged statements other kids had made which were demonstrably untrue and/or anti-science, or which made fun of other religions.   [11]    K also said to the teacher that it was unfair to label kids with heir parents’ religion, when kids aren’t old enough to understand or make their own decisions – after all, when it came to religion they had to do what their parents did, go to their parents’ churches… K stopped offering his comments when he realized that the other kids were staring at him, all except for Oscar, wouldn’t make eye contact with him.

The SS teacher told his Sunday school charges that, since it was their duty to witness to non-Christians, they needed to know how to tell if someone is not a Christian.  Who had any ideas as to how to do that?  Eager sheep religious bigots evangelists in training raised their hands to the heavens.  “Oh oh oh, I know, I know – they’d be sinning!” one boy gushed.  K was somehow able to stifle his snort of derision at that remark (they’d be sinning?  Uh…specifics, please?)  “Yeah,” another child chimed in, “they’d probably be mean, and do bad things.”  “They’d look unhappy!” came another suggestion.  “They’d be, like, saying the wrong prayers, Buddhist chants or stuff”…”They’d be sad, or angry, or….”

It went on and on, with the teacher (in K’s view) encouraging his students’ absurdities.  But K had taken to heart one of my most sacred (ahem) teachings – that in the presence of ignorance and bullying, silence implies acquiescence.  Alas and finally, he could no longer remain silent.

“You could just ask them,” K offered.

There was dead silence; all eyes in the classroom turned to him.  The teacher asked K to explain; K replied that if you truly want to know what someone thinks or believes, you should ask them, instead of assuming.

This was near the end of the class; the How To Identifier A Sinner ® discussion continued for another minute, then the teacher led his students in prayer before dismissing the class.  He asked the students to bow their heads and close their eyes and join him in praying for the strength to witness to the unsaved, and for a few other requests K couldn’t remember, and to ask (their) god to “touch the hearts and show the right way to the unbelievers among us.”

 

 

Observant unbeliever that he was, K left his eyes open during the prayer.  He saw that when the teacher made the unbelievers among us remark, several students opened their eyes to take a peek at him, then quickly turned away and shut their eyes….but he’d gotten the message.  As had I, when K told me what had happened.  That S.O.B. bully Sunday School teacher had made my preteen son a target, as the object of a supposed “prayer of concern.”

We talked (translation: I let K sound off) for a long time.  I told him how proud I was of him, and advised him, perhaps mistakenly, that if he was still upset about it, maybe he could talk to his aunt?  He didn’t.  Looking back, it’s probably good that he didn’t.  After hanging up from that call, I was aching for my son despite realizing that what had happened to him was a valuable, Oy, Such is Life ® experience.  I in turn had a milder version of his own shaking experience, as I began to recall similar incidents, including the one with that Raging Mormon Witnessing Dude.

It is viscerally unsettling, to be the target of irrational fear and anger and us v. them ideology, and to realize that something as seemingly innocuous as a Sunday school class can transmit the dynamic of otherness.   It is a basic, almost instinctual fear, IMO, wherein such encounters you have a gut-level realization of the history of your species:  people have been and continue to be judged, shunned, bullied, abused, and even tortured and killed by their fellow human beings because of being The Other/The Heretic/The Unbeliever.  Something deep in my DNA recognized the look in that Raging Mormon Witnessing Dude, and understood the warning my intuition was sending me:

This is how ‘good’ people can, and do, go bad.  Feeling so strongly about something – that this is what your god commands, and those who disagree with you are disagreeing with your god, and not only are they wrong, they are (possessed by) evil  –this is how human beings eventually justify killing other human beings.

When my offspring returned from their visit I asked Belle about her experience at YS’s church.  Being three years younger, the Sunday School class she went to with her same-age cousin was focused more on doing churchy-crafty things, and Belle told me that she really didn’t pay attention to “the rest of it” (read:  any “god talk.”).  Just as Belle did in her own church’s SS class, she ignored the churchy/Jesusy stuff and concentrated on crafting her popsicle stick recreation of Noah’s ark or whatever.

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought(s) Of The Week     [12]

* It is immoral to brand children with religion. ‘This is a Catholic child.’ ‘That is a Muslim child.’ I want everyone to flinch when they hear such a phrase, just as they would if they heard, ‘That is a Marxist child.’

* Do not ever tell a child, ‘You belong to this religion,’ –  that is child abuse.

* I am persuaded that ‘child abuse’ is no exaggeration when used to describe what teachers and priests are doing to children whom they encourage to believe in something like…eternal hell.

(  Richard Dawkins, British evolutionary biologist, zoologist, author,
one of “The Four Horsemen“)

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I love it when a child has the integrity to challenge and speak the truth to those in power.  This is how people are truly “saved.”

 

*    *    *

May you know when to stand up to bullies;
May you know when it’s wiser to back away from a ruthlessly righteous bully;
May you rise at whatever time around dawn is best for you;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] I just got props for being a good student, even though Sunday School teachers didn’t give out grades

[2] MH’s political party registration has changed several times over the years (as has mine, although I’ve been “no party for over a decade now), depending on the candidates and primaries.

[3] and MH, although you’d have to ask him for his own reasons.

[4] Chief among those being that the natural world is the way it is due to a supernatural world.

[5] MH and I both were from families which were members of the most liberal Lutheran denomination, the ALC, which is now the ELCA.

[6] Which is why I’m in favor of comparative religion classes in schools – not teaching the rightness or wrongness of any particular religion, but merely the history and existence of various faiths.

[7] We took turns suggesting books; after I left the church, a fellow long time book study member said he wasn’t surprised, considering the titles and topics I always suggested.

[8] Basically, anyone who wasn’t them was on the wrong side of religion.

[9] The only words I could make out on his sign…there were a lot more

[10] I can’t remember if YS’s church, like many churches, had children and their parents present during the first part of the church service, then about halfway through (before the sermon) dismissed the kids to their Sunday school classes.

[11] Some kids made cutting remarks about Buddhism, Islam and other worldviews.

[12] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. 

No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Here Now I’m Not Being

May 17, 2024

Robyn Parnell are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), current events, freethought/humanism, friends, Holidays, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), making fun of Norwegians and/or the Irish, nature, Oregon, science, Wow, YEE HAW! , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Here Now I’m Not Being

Department Of First Things First

Happy Syttende Mai  (“sit en day my“), for those of y’all lucky enough to either have Norwegian ancestry or love someone who does.

 

 

*   *   *

Department of Mama Nature’s Northern Lights Dance Party

Re last weekend’s solar flare phenomenon: moiself  was  très appreciative of the postings people shared – photos of the heretofore unimaginable splendor of the skies which were taken not from a telescope, but from outside their own homes.

At the beach, MH and I appreciated the rarity of the occasion: for once, Oregon had clear skies when there was a noteworthy astronomical event.

 

 

I missed the spectacle Friday night, perhaps looking too early and thinking, ah well, it’s not here...and then in the morning we saw friends’ pictures they’d taken from the beach dunes.  We went back to that dune on Saturday night, but didn’t see any northern lights.  We still had a lovely time sky-gazing.  The silvery moonlight reflecting off the waves is its own natural phenomenon, worthy of appreciation.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of A Meditation On Meditation

In my morning meditation I’’ve been unpacking the familiar phrase, Be here now.  Taken from the groundbreaking 1971 book by American erstwhile professor-turned-meditation-guru Ram Dass   [1]    be here now is usually considered to be a prescription, a something-to-do.  But, what about thinking of it not as a prescription, but a *description?*

Moiself  has four meditation apps, three of which I mostly use for their choices of ambient music and timers.  For guided meditations and/or learning, I use Waking Up, which besides also having meditation timers offers a daily guided meditation and an expanding audio library relating to establishing or maintaining a mindfulness/meditation practice.

 

 

After having been away from the app for a time, I opened it a couple of days ago, and decided to skip the Daily Meditation ( my usual choice) to see the new offerings in the library.  Under the practice category I saw The Nature of Now, 11 short sessions    [2]    by scholar, author, and meditation teacher John Astin, and decided to check them out.  But, four days in, I’d only made it past the intro and session one.  I kept repeating session two, Being Here Now, because…well, because of observations like this:

“Be here now….those three words certainly sound like and are often heard as a prescription, something for us to do, something to practice….  In this inquiry however, I’d to flip that notion on its head, and invite you to consider that these words, as with so many others we hear in different teachings, are not so much prescriptions to do something, in order to arrive somewhere else or get ourself to some other state, but rather descriptions of the way things actually are – the way reality already is….

 

 

Astin goes on to examine each of the simple three words.  The observations he offers sound so forthright or obvious on the face of it, but are definitely not the way we – or at least, I – “practice” our daily lives:

“See that being requires absolutely no effort or practice in order for it to be so.  It simply is. Existence is already here; effortlessly, and spontaneously….feel the inescapable truth of this:  the fact that every moment, we are.”

I was much younger, in moiself’s  more cynical, late teens,-early twenties, when I first encountered the phrase, “be here now.”  I never gave it much thought, other than to deem it an example of the existential hilarity to be found in woo-woo disciplines of crystal gazers and the like:

“Be here now…oh, wwwwwooooowwwww. As opposed to, Be there then?

Looking back, was I arrogant or merely ignorant?  Most likely a combination of the two.  I certainly was ignorant of the science of meditation.  But that was then and this is now – oooh, speaking of woo…, that’s a phrase from the title of another seminal 1971 book, one of the first of what would be called the coming-of-age or YA genre, by SE Hinton.

 

 

Once again, I digress.

From what I have read and talked about with others, and experienced moiself, a common obstacle for people trying to start or maintain a meditation practice is that meditating is seen as a prescription – as yet another thing that you should be doing because it is good for you, like flossing your teeth or siccing Child Protective Services on parents who wear MAGA hats  taking a daily vitamin supplements.  Due in part to that (mis)understanding, when people approach meditation that way they can find it stressful, because the equanimity or relaxation they are expecting is not immediately apparent; thus, they think they are “doing it wrong” instead of just doing it, sans judgement or expectation and allowing….

This is tricky to articulate.  I’m no meditation expert or teacher, just someone who has a (oft times sporadic) meditation practice.  I can say that the benefits of allowing moiself  to be aware, even if it’s just aware of doing “nothing” other than observing moiself  while I’m doing that nothing, are palpable.  That simple proposition – that be here now is a description, not a prescription – I’m still chewing on it.  It’s a perspective changer, for me, that the reality of our existence, being here, is happening all the time, whether or not we are taking the minutes to sit and realize it that all you have to do is to be a human, being.  Not a human striving, or a human wanting – just a human, be-ing.

That’s enough profundity for today.

 

“Great…that means it’s back to political rants, anti-supernatural invectives, and fart jokes?”

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [3]

“[Mindfulness] is not concerned with anything transcendent or divine. It serves as an antidote to theism, a cure for sentimental piety, a scalpel for excising the tumor of metaphysical belief.”

( Stephen Batchelor, author, meditation teacher, former Buddhist monk, from
Confession of a Buddhist Atheist )    [4]

 

 

*   *   *

Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I both love it and hate it when I’m trying to be (somewhat) serious, then remember that it has been some time since I’ve included a fart joke in this space, and realize there will be no peace for me until I do.

Q.  What’s the difference between a saloon and an elephant fart?

A.  A saloon is a barroom, and an elephant fart is a BARRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOM.

 

 

*    *    *

May you remember that you don’t have to remember to be here now;
May you have a good viewing seat for Nature’s next astronomical light show;
May you meditate on the utility of political rants,
anti-supernatural invectives, and fart jokes;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] nee Richard Albert.

[2] Each ranging from 3 to 8 minutes long; most around 5m.

[3] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[4] Shall we all meditate on the usefulness of footnotes?

The Czechoslovakian Freedom Fighter I’m Not Housing

May 3, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), foodie, freethought/humanism, friends, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), movies, politics, radio & podcasts, school, science, Wow, YEE HAW!, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Czechoslovakian Freedom Fighter I’m Not Housing

Department Of Did I Raise My Offspring Right, Or What?

Dateline:  yesterday, noonish.  Son K, who is aware of my preference for dry, subtle humor which mines the nuances and incongruities inherent in trying to lead a life of service and reflection in these coarse and chaotic times, sends me this catchy ditty.  Moiself  hereby nominates the following for Best American Folk Song Ever.  Just try not to sing along (but be warned, definitely NSFW).

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Two Annoying Life Event Trends
I Am Looking Forward To Seeing Combined

Those would be a wedding reception which features a gender reveal, and a robot.

“After the vows, the champagne toasts, the filet mignon and the first dance between the bride and groom — after all the normal wedding stuff — came the cue. The cue for the abnormal wedding stuff.
‘Start waving those hands for the PARTY ROBOT!’
Into the candlelit banquet hall lumbered a menacing eight-foot-tall humanoid machine, pumping his metallic fists to the thumping electronic music, flanked by servers bearing sparklers and trays of dessert.”
(The Robots are coming…for your wedding,” The Washington Post 4-24-24 )

Silly moiself,  googling the idea of gender reveal/wedding, thinking I’d get nothing (but it would still be better, as in, even tackier, to combine it with a wedding reception)….

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Arguably One Of My Favorite Pieces of Jesus Art…

…is a stained glass window at Saint Ignatius College Prep, comedian John Mulaney’s high school, which he and David Letterman visited while filming Mulaney’s appearance on Letterman’s show, My Next Guest Needs No Introduction.

Moiself  can’t help but think that the stained-glass artist who created that panel was a closeted (which, until relatively recently, you had to be) atheist or at least skeptic, as the artist gave JC an eye-rolling, “Oy vey, the horseshit  people believe!?” expression.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of All-Time Great Pranks

This slice o’ life story is courtesy of the six degrees of separation principle vis-à-vis my   [1]  neurons making the connections that they…just make, sometimes.

Dateline: last Saturday 7:45 AM-ish; walking.  The podcast I was listening to reminded me of some actor,   [2]   who reminded me of another actor, which reminded me that one of those actors is either currently or formerly a Scientologist, which brought to mind one of the great pranks ever played on me, which occurred when I was in college at UC Davis.

Way back then the town of Davis had a very active Scientology Center.  I use the term Center deliberately – there was no “Church of Scientology” at that time,   [3]  a fact that Scientologists boastfully emphasized in their recruitment efforts.  When a Scientology proselytizer knocked on your door or approached you on the campus quad, and you as the average student/citizen had no interest in taking the time to challenge Scientology bullshit beliefs, it’s likely you’d use some version of the customary brushoff:

“No thanks/not interested, I have my own religion.”

The eager beaver Scientologist would scoff, “Religion?!? Scientology is *not* a religion!” The Scientology recruiter would use that as an entryway into assuring their target that there’d be no conflict in learning about Scientology – “which, *not* being a religion, would not require any renouncing of your personal religious beliefs – which is a proven/effective method/philosophy combining spirituality and Science ®, to handle stress and show pathways to healthy and successful lives….”

 

 

Moiself  could (and may, eventually) share more stories re my encounters with Scientology adherents at UCD.  Instead, the afore-mentioned prank, which discerning readers will surmise has something to do with Scientology, will now take center stage.

My college boyfriend “Scott,”  [4]   no fan of any supernatural beliefs (including the religions of the dominant culture, one of which I pretended to believe in, at the time), considered Scientology to be the most egregious example of spiritual and intellectual quackery.  As a student who would go on to get undergraduate and graduate degrees in several scientific disciplines, Scott particularly objected to the cult’s organization using the word science in any way shape or form.

I knew that Scott had visited the Scientology Center at least once, to check it out, after I’d amused him with my tales of encountering Scientology recruiters on campus.  Scott and his best friend “Bruce” returned the favor, amusing moiself  and a couple of my apartment mates one evening when they showed up at our apartment, pulled out a small tape recorder from Bruce’s book bag, and played back Scott’s session with a Scientology auditor which, unbeknownst to the auditor, they had surreptitiously recorded with the tape recorder hidden in Bruce’s book bag.

The tape’s audio wasn’t all that great, but we could hear enough to be both flabbergasted and highly entertained, as the auditor asked Scott a series of questions while Scott grasped both handholds of the infamous Scientology E-Meter.

 

 

The E-meter is (was? Are they still using that batshit crazy thang?) a crude electronic device meant to mimic a polygraph, and was used by Scientology auditors (“counselors”) to purportedly “examine a person’s mental state.”  [5]   In terms of sophisticated electronic devices, Scott described the E-Meter as perhaps one or two steps above using a “telephone” consisting of two tin cans connected by kite string.

One evening about a week after Scott entertained us with the E-meter tape, I heard a knock at my apartment door.  My three roommates and I had a lot of regular visitors to our apartment, most of whom just opened the door and announced their arrival – so, someone who actually bothered to knock was something different, maybe even special.  When I opened the door I beheld a young man standing on our welcome mat.  He was carrying some kind of satchel and a piece of paper with a name and address on it.  He looked at me, then past me to my three (all-female) roommates who were in the living room, then down at his paper, then his eyes traveled back up to our apartment door.  He asked if this was 224 A St. apartment 16?  When I replied in the affirmative, he said that he was here at the behest of a man named “Victor Lazlo, who visited the Scientology Center and expressed a desire to  ‘get clear.’ “

VICTOR LAZLO ?!?!?!   [6]

Had I been sipping a beverage there’s no way I could have avoided a classic spit take.

 

 

 

Young Scientology Man seemed undeterred by my and my roommates’ scarcely muffled guffaws.  I got rid of him by throwing him a bone, something ala, “Oh, yeah, Victor – he moved back on campus,” and giving him the dorm address of a male friend of mine.  [7]

 

 

 

*   *   *

A Haiku For Unglamorous Vegetables In Our Weekly Farm Share

Celery root, and
turnips.  I was surprised by
Their very pleasant

aroma, as they
boiled.  Meanwhile, I sauteed leeks
in (plant-based) butter.

Garlic; a pinch each
of white pepper, nutmeg, and
green salt;  [8]  a splash each

of lemon juice, and
veg broth; mashed all together; top with fresh parsley.
Yummers – who knew?

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department of Employee Of The Month

 

 

It’s that time, to bestow that prestigious award upon moiself.  Again. The need for which I wrote about here.   [9] 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [10]

“If you think it’s offensive that I call alleged biblical miracles ridiculous, you should ask yourself whether or not it’s ridiculous to insist that Muhammad flew on a winged horse. Or that the earth was hatched from a cosmic egg? Or that Xenu, the dictator of the Galactic Confederacy, brought billions of his people to earth 75 million years ago and killed them using hydrogen bombs? These are all religious beliefs of others, but that doesn’t mean calling them ridiculous is an insult – it’s an objective fact until proven otherwise.”
(David G. McAfee, journalist and author, of No Sacred Cows: Investigating Myths, Cults, and the Supernatural, and other books)

*   *   *


Parting Shot:  I love it when/I hate it when…

I hate it when I realize that April 1 is way done gone and past, and no one even tried to play an April Fool’s joke on moiself.

 

 

*    *    *

May homely vegetables inspire you to write haiku;
May you appreciate having a creative prank played on you;
May you avoid gluing your __ to your…..you know;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] In olden days referred to as “the six handshakes” principle, Six degrees of separation is the theory the idea that anyone can be connected to any other person via six or fewer social connections – that is, a chain of “friend of a friend” statements can connect any two people in a maximum of six steps.  For example, let’s say that, despite having never been to China or having met him, moiself  claims to have a connection to Chairman Mao Zedong, to whom I am connected, six-degrees style, via my sister-in-law who is from Canton, whose great uncle was an aide to a vice president of the Chinese communist party who served under Mao.  (BTW, my SIL is from Canton, but that’s the only part of that example that is true….I think).

[2] An actor who was not mentioned in the podcast, but, there it is.

[3] The Internal Revenue Service did not recognize Scientology as a “charitable and religious organization” until 1993, after a 37 year dispute and controversial negotiations.

[4] Not his real name.

[5] As in, if used by a properly trained (ahem) auditor, the device can allow the operator to “see a thought”  and uncover hidden lies and other thought “crimes. “

[6] A key character in the movie Casablanca, Victor Lazlo (played by Paul Heinreid) was the heroic Czechoslovakian resistance leader, and unintended rival to (Humphrey Bogart’s) Rick Blaine for the affections of Ilsa Lund, Lazlo’s wife (played by Ingrid Bergman).

[7] Damn! All these years later, I think I’d forgotten to ask them if the guy ever showed up.

[8] What I used in place of most salt, for cooking now – this may save the planet.  Check it out: https://www.trygreensalt.com/

[9] Several years ago, MH received a particularly glowing performance review from his workplace. As happy as I was for him when he shared the news, it left me with a certain melancholy I couldn’t quite peg.  Until I did.

One of the many “things” about being a writer (or any occupation working freelance at/from home) is that although you avoid the petty bureaucratic policies, bungling bosses, mean girls’ and boys’ cliques, office politics and other irritations inherent in going to a workplace, you also lack the camaraderie and other social perks that come with being surrounded by your fellow homo sapiens.  No one praises me for fixing the paper jam in the copy machine, or thanks me for staying late and helping the new guy with a special project, or otherwise says, Good on you, sister. Once I realized the source of the left-out feelings, I came up with a small way to lighten them.

[10] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.  No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Truth I’m Not Not Handling

February 9, 2024

Robyn Parnell are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, current events, freethought/humanism, friends, Isms (religion), Me so happy, movies, music, nature, politics, radio & podcasts, school, science, TV, Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Truth I’m Not Not Handling

Department Of First Things First, As In:
This Date Should Be A National Holiday

♫   It was twenty years ago today,
Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play…♫

And it was sixty years ago today – February 9, 1964, that, all over the world but especially in America, aspiring musicians who didn’t even know they were that, or that they wanted to be in a rock n’ roll band, watched the Ed Sullivan Show…and the rest is history.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Cheese Is Supposed To Be
Whatever You Want It To Be

Dateline; Sunday 12:45 PM-ish; MH and I are waiting to order lunch at Schmizza Public House in Orenco.  The couple seated at the table next to moiself  (a father and his non-custodial daughter, which I gathered from their ensuing conversation, which I overheard due to the volume with which they spoke   [1]   ) is giving their order to the server.  The man is asking to have the blue cheese crumbles excluded from a dish which includes them; he also wants a different dressing.  He says this three times; each time the server repeats it back to him, to confirm she’s getting it right:  “You want ___ instead of ___, and no blue cheese?”  At the final confirmation, she says “Got it,” and as she leaves to put in their order I hear No Blue Cheese man mumble under his breath, “Cheese is not supposed to be blue.”

 

I wonder how he feels about other Cheeses of Color?

 

*   *   *

Department Of Stealth Bombs

Dateline: Monday morning, circa 10 am.  MH comes into my office to tell me something, and quickly gets sidetracked.  “Hey, he says, pointing to the carpet behind where I am sitting in my chair, “cat barf!”

Earlier in the morning moiself  had already cleaned up a hairball-involved spew from our cat, Nova, near her food bowls upstairs.  Had she also, unbeknownst to moiself,  done the deed downstairs at the same time, or was this a new deposit – series of deposits as it turns out (there were three small spots; two on the carpet and one on the carpet protector underneath my desk and chair    [2]  )?  Either way, I’d been in and out of my office several times and hadn’t noticed.

“Don’t roll back!” MH warns, as one of the barf blobs is right behind my office chair – “Oh, I think you already rolled into it.”  He goes and gets some paper towels; I follow him to the laundry room and get a wet rag, muttering, “She makes no noise, all of a sudden, it’s just there.”   In exasperation I blurt out to MH, “How can she do that, without me noticing?!?!?!  She barfs like some people fart: silent, but….”

 

*   *   *

Department Of Cool Scientists We Should Remember

Last week moiself  listened to the first of what will be a series of Freakonomics podcasts about the late great renowned physicist, Nobel Prize winner, Caltech professor and member of The Manhattan Project, author and bongo drum enthusiast, Richard Feynman.  That episode, The Curious Mr. Feynman, featured memories of Feynman shareby by family, friends and colleagues, and most specifically focused on the venture for which most non-scientist Americans know Feynman: for serving on the commission ordered by President Reagan to investigate the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger disaster.

What most Americans don’t know is that Feynman did *not* want to serve on the commission.  The majority of its members were political and/or military appointments, and after working on the Manhattan project, Feynman was convinced that the military and scientists were not a good mix.  Suffering from cancer (which he kept private), Feynman’s strong impulse was to decline the invitation, especially when he found out that President Reagan had instructed former secretary of state William Rogers, whom Reagan had appointed to chair the commission, “Whatever you do, don’t embarrass NASA.”

 

 

I know; really.  How alarming is that?  But Feynman ‘s wife kept reminding him that if he were not to serve on the commission it would just be “the rest of them” (i.e., politicians and the military), and so he finally agreed.

Looking back, especially after hearing some of the  notes Feynman kept as he served on the commission, I find it highly creepy to think of what might’ve happened had Feynman (or another scientist like him    [3]  )  not been on the commission. 

Once he agreed and got on the commission, he was again reluctant to serve with the others, so Feynman did what he did best.  He went on his own, finding out from the ground up, just how is the space shuttle constructed? And he was aided by this in being able to consistently and meticulously question the scientists and engineers at Jet Propulsion Laboratory who’d designed and built the shuttle, many of whom were willing to talk with him rather than someone else, because he had been their professor at Caltech!

My takeaway from the episode:  as much as Feynman loathed politics, he evidently understood the political mind and the value of PR, for had Feynman not pulled that “stunt” with the O-ring, it is highly possible that his findings would have been ignored or buried by the others on the committee.

 

 

 

Which brings up the major area of creepiness: Reagan’s instructions to the commission that they were not to embarrass NASA.  That stayed with moiself  for hours after having heard about it (via the podcast).  Consider the times:  when the Challenger exploded our country was still in the midst of the Cold War, and the USA’s space program was lauded by many as a prime example of our “victory” in that conflict.  Reagan in particular championed how our successes in space exploration were just one example of the proof of how the innovation and openness of American democracy triumphed not just politically, but scientifically, over the closed and stagnating system of the Soviets.  I get that that was a factor.

What blows moiself’s  mind is how Reagan could then turn around and use the very tactics of the regime he famously touted as the “evil empire” and the “focus of evil in the modern world.”   Reagan’s commission was, supposedly, appointed to find out the facts  of the Challenger tragedy – why did the shuttle explode? – and yet in doing so they were not to “embarrass NASA.”  If the commission discovered that the shuttle had a design flaw which was not detected and/or minimized, that would embarrass NASA.  However, given their Prime Directive from the president himself, re any such discoveries the commission would be under pressure to act as if:

* this fact is not a fact

* we are not seeing what we are seeing

* we cannot discover what we are discovering, because even if we discover it, we were instructed, “whatever else” we do, *not* to embarrass NASA.
And the facts show that NASA fucked up…so we cannot discover the facts.

 

 

Wasn’t that attitude – ideology trumps reality – a hallmark of closed, repressive, totalitarian systems?   By giving the commission chair that instruction, Reagan was borrowing a move from the playbook of the “evil empire.”  By giving the commission chair those no-embarrasing-NASA  instructions, Reagan showed that in his zeal to maintain the impression of (what be believed to be) the USA’s scientific and moral superiority to the Soviets, he was willing to employ the *exact* strategy of the Soviets, and later the one employed by the Russians , most egregiously in their sham investigation a major tragedy of their own – the Chernobyl nuclear disaster.

Y’all should really check out the episode.  Fascination, and a bit frightening.

Feynman grew concerned that this “investigation” would be more of a show trial — political propaganda meant to save face….

Most of the 12 members of the Commission were political or military appointees; Feynman worried that Chairman Rogers would try to sideline him, maybe even withhold information….

In Washington, the Commission began to interview witnesses. Feynman didn’t think Chairman Rogers was trying very hard to get to the true cause of the explosion. So Feynman began asking questions — sharp, unrelenting questions. Questions about the science. During a break, Chairman Rogers was overheard, in the men’s room, complaining to the astronaut Neil Armstrong, who also sat on the Commission. He said: “Feynman is becoming a real pain in the ass.” Feynman…felt the investigation was becoming a whitewash.

Serving on the commission had been as dreadful an experience as Feynman had feared. But he kept digging. By now he had come to believe that the Challenger exploded because of the failure of what are called O-rings — small, circular seals designed to prevent fluid or air from leaking during a mechanical process….

Richard Feynman was a patriot; he loved NASA, he loved adventure and exploration; he even loved risk-taking — as long as the risk had been properly calculated. What he hated was any attempt to paper over the truth; as a scientist, all he wanted was to find out true things. Here are some other things he hated: hypocrisy, B.S., and the use of unscientific thinking to make important decisions….

So, he now decided to pull a stunt.  This stunt, on a Presidential commission investigating a national tragedy, would be in public, on television….

It would later be revealed that NASA had known about the O-ring problem, but had downplayed the risks. The Rogers Commission, in its published report, went easy on NASA, as President Reagan had asked. But the report did include an appendix written by Richard Feynman. He didn’t go easy on NASA. Here is his final sentence: “For a successful technology, reality must take precedence over public relations, for Nature cannot be fooled.”

( excerpts from The Curious Mr. Feynman, Freakonomics  )

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Interesting, And Revealing, Choice Of Words

On the subject of PR trumping reality….  I recently came across this scary article:

At Hopdoddy Burger Bar near the University of Florida campus in Gainesville recently…  he menu advertised the usual gluten-free and vegan options, as well as something more unusual: beef purporting to “save the planet, one bite at a time.”

The Austin-based chain buys the meat from ranchers who use eco-friendly agricultural techniques. The burgers — about $4 more expensive than the traditional ones — are designed to appeal to a fast-growing, desirable demographic of climate-conscious omnivores. But the extent to which such premium-priced beef patties are helping cool the earth is hotly disputed.

“We want to change the narrative that eating meat is bad for the planet, or that eating plant-based is better,” said Chad Edwards, the on-duty manager, explaining the company’s “just eat a Hopdoddy burger” solution to climate change…. The stakes, or perhaps steaks, of this effort to rewrite the science-backed narrative that cows are a climate menace are bigger than this 46-restaurant chain. The company is at the vanguard of a contentious push by meat and dairy industries trying to rebrand as climate solutions.

( excerpt from “How meat and milk companies are racing to ease your climate guilt
A climate-friendly hamburger? A carbon-neutral glass of milk? As companies make bold claims, a heated debate erupts.”
By Evan Halper and Laura Reiley, The Washington Post  ; emphases mine  )

 

 

Interesting, and revealing, choice of words.  Can’t change the facts? Change the narrative.

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [4]

 

 

*   *   *

Parting shot: I love it when/I hate it when…

I hate it when word games apparently have a Word Cop curating them. I’ll explain.

Letter Boxed is one of the series of New York Times puzzles  [5]   I do each morning. The objective of Letter Boxed is to use all of the 12 letters around the box in 5 words or less, sequencing the letters to spell words that are at least 3 letters long (no proper nouns or hyphenates or contractions).  Letters can be reused, but consecutive letters cannot be from the same side (for example, in today’s puzzle, pictured below, the letter W in your word cannot be preceded or followed by an E), and the last letter of a word becomes the first letter of the next word.

 

 

Dateline: Thursday, 5:30 am, playing Letter Boxed. I have two of the three words necessary to win by *my* standard, which is to solve the puzzle in three words at most.  My remaining, #3 word, must start with the letter S and use up the letters L and U, which have not been used in my first two words.  I attempt to enter the word slut, and get the curt rejection, “not a word.”

 

 

*   *   *

May we all live by the maxim that reality must take precedence over PR;
May we smugly know when a word is a word,
no matter what the NYTimes games curator apps decree;
May we change the narrative to fit the facts, and not the other way around;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] They were speaking loud enough for me to overhear them, whether I wanted to or not (it’s kind of a sports bar atmosphere), and the details he asked about and the routine things she had to explain to him – he’s obviously her father, but was playing catch-up in her life – made me think she does not live with him.

[2] I hope you’re enjoying all the details.

[3] Although, has there ever been another scientist like Richard Feynman?

[4] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. 

No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

[5] The NY Times games I play are (in this order):  Connections; The Mini; Letter Boxed; Wordle.

The Oracles I’m Not Consulting

December 8, 2023

Robyn Parnell are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, community, current events, freethought/humanism, friends, Holidays, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), movies, nature, Oregon, science, TV, Wow, YEE HAW!, Yikes! , , , , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Oracles I’m Not Consulting

Department Of The Partridge Of The Week

It’s that time of the year again. As has become a tradition much maligned anticipated in our neighborhood, Moiself  is hosting a different Partridge, every week, in my front yard.   [1]

Can you identify this week’s guest Partridge?

 

 

*   *   *

Department Am I So Lucky To Have Raised A Science *And* Film Nerd?

Dateline: last Saturday, circa 8:50 am.  The following IM message chat ensued between daughter Belle and moiself, after she’d IM’d me the previous evening to let me know she was going to see the new Godzilla movie.

Belle:
Okay Godzilla Minus One was AWESOME….
I know I recommend a lot of movies but I RECOMMEND this one.

Moiself:
I will see it for sure…We’ll see if I can drag MH to it.    [2]

Belle:
It’s a pretty low budget film, but the combination of practical and special effects is really well done, and the story is really solid.
I also really like the Godzilla design.

Moiself :
He doesn’t have a peewee head, I hope.
In some past ones his head was out of proportion to his body, IMO.

Belle:
Sorry, his head is tiny haha.

Moiself:
😵‍💫

Belle:
… the tiny head had never really bothered me. It makes sense for a lizard that lives in land and water. It’s an aerodynamic shape; and, I think the canon is that he feeds off of radiation, so he technically doesn’t need a big mouth to eat anything

Moiself:
This conversation is so going in my next blog post.
You are right, of course. I think I’m reacting to having been imprinted on the original Godzilla, in which he had a much bigger head, more like a T-rex, but your commentary on the design makes sense.

Belle:
Because of course the anatomy of a giant radiation-consuming lizard has to make evolutionary sense!

Moiself:
Doesn’t the radiation trump evolution here?

Belle:
Exactly lol, I’m saying it’s kinda silly to assume the small head is because he doesn’t need to eat things when it’s a totally made-up monster.
But I like the case of evolution gone totally haywire.  That’s more fun.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Later That Same Day….

Dateline: Saturday, WA CO County Fairgrounds convention hall. MH and I attended the Winter Moon Bazaar.  It had been advertised as a “pagan fest,” with

“…Over 100 Vendors: Explore a diverse array of artisanal treasures.
Female Krampus: Witness the enchanting allure of the Winter Moon.
Pagan Spirit: Celebrate the season’s magic and history.
Concessions: Satisfy your cravings with delightful treats.
Workshops and Entertainment…”

We heard about it from a (non-pagan) friend, who had a booth there with her crocheting and other handwork; we decided to stop by to see her and check it out.  The event was sponsored by paganfrye….whose website’s motto, “Your magick begins here,” is probably a better marketing slogan than, “Serving all of your sparkly hokum needs.”  And in case y’all be wondering what that alternative spelling indicates, other than an attempt at being precious… 

 

 

…you can check that out here.

MH and I roamed the convention hall, checking out the booths.  The Winter Moon Bazaar resembled most any other holiday bazaar, except for the dominance of vendors whose products signaled the pagan/wicca theme.  I found moiself  wondering how many of those peddling their witchy wares actually “believe in” or practice Wicca or contemporary paganism.  We saw one of the entertainment moments: dancing by some of the fest’s participants, who were attired in….  There’s no nice way to put it.  I’ll just say moiself  cringed with embarrassment for them – and for any actual Wiccans present, who surely don’t dress like middle-aged women who got drunk at a Walmart post-Halloween costume sale and tried on all the merchandise.

 

 

Son K once told me, after reading up on the various spiritualities which fall under the umbrella of paganism –   [3]   Wicca or witchcraft, druids , pantheistic or theistic-free  – that paganism  reminds him of the “modern” religions, in that its followers ultimately (whether or not consciously), and simply decide to “….pick something they want to believe to be true, and so they devote themselves to that.”

Sounds about right, from moiself’s  POV .  After several interesting conversations with self-identified Wiccans/pagans over the years (in college, and in post-college work situations) I came away with the impression that pagan spiritualities are akin to all other spiritualities.  And therefore they, like all worldviews, are subject to the same critiques and analysis, including the first and foremost, RGP’s First Law of Spiritual Dynamics:

* Open your eyes and get off your knees – don’t worship any one or thing.*

 

 

BTW, did y’all know that Portland was home to the First 24 Hour Church of Elvis?

 

 

The now-defunct FCOE was created by artist (and former corporate lawyer!) Stephanie Pierce.

“For three decades, one of the best known and quirkiest Portland tourist attractions was the 24 Hour Church of Elvis….  For a quarter, visitors could hear a sermon by Elvis, confess their sins, receive the Elvis catechism, or get a photo with the King of Rock and Roll. Pierce also offered Elvis-themed wedding services, including legal weddings for $25, novelty weddings for $5, and coin-operated weddings for $1…”
(excerpt from the Oregon Encyclopedia )

 

 

Alas, despite the 24 hour claim, moiself  was never able to avail myself of the F C of E services, as it was always closed/out of order when I stopped by.

Reverences heaped upon The King of Rock ‘n Roll® aside,  I find the concept of worship to be obsequious, abhorrent, and ultimately dangerous for the human mind and motives.  However, if for some reason people want to devote themselves to the veneration of “forces,” both outside and/or encompassing ourselves, honoring “the forces of nature” (personified or otherwise) seems to me to be more rational than embracing the bizarre theologies of theistic religions, wherein some *supernatural* deity/force is said to be in charge of the *natural* world.

Venerating what we can see, what we know to exist – the change of the seasons, the tides, etc. – well, whatever floats your boat swoons your moon, engages your sage.  Also, I can’t recall hearing of a Wiccan vilifying someone’s sexual orientation or trying to ban books from libraries or insisting that their beliefs about nature be taught in school science classes….  

Except for what seems to be a common connection between the practices of Wicca and the celestial horseshit unicorn feces of astrology, tarot readings and other psychic divination absurdities, what the heck – how harmful can such beliefs be?  Then I visited the website of the person/group  [4]   organizing the event, took a peek, and found…services…offered under a heading called Crows of Fate. ( a small sample; my emphases):

* Flight of Truth – A 5 card draw placed in a cross pattern.
It shows you the truth of your current situation. $20

* Full Flight – A 10 card draw placed in the Celtic Cross fashion.
This draw is best for when you are struggling with a difficult problem. $50

Oracle and other Services
If you have difficulty figuring out what question you should focus on or just need a yes or no answer the Oracle cards are best for such answers at $7 a card.

Psychic Services for Private Events:
Only Tarot and Oracle readings are available for private events….
It will cost $80 to retain my services for the evening….

Psychic Consultations:
I am more than willing to help with any psychic or magical trouble you are having for $10/hr.

…. Please give a basic description of the problem so that I can arrive properly equipped to deal with the problem.  Otherwise you will incur an inconvenience fee of $160.

 

 

And moiself  once thought that theistic religions had the corner on con games.  Anyone ignorant enough to pay for such psychic services will incur more intellectual damage than any $160 inconvenience fee would cost them.

Oh, and this is priceless: psychic consultations which stipulate beforehand, “Please give a basic description of the problem.“   So much for psychic abilities.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of On A Related Subject….

I have blogged previously about the subject – alternative spiritual practices – as in this excerpt from my post of 2-17-17:

As regular readers of this blog know (and new or sporadic readers will likely surmise), I am not a religious person.  I was raised by church-going, Christian parents;  [5]  flirted with/researched a variety of denominations during/post college; was a member (even served as a deacon, holy shit!) of a UCC church    [6]   for many years; happily (read: finally) came out over a decade ago   [7] as a lifelong skeptic-atheist-Freethinker-Bright.

While I hold a modicum of respect for some of the ideals and practices of, say, contemporary non-theistic Buddhism and Unitarianism and Jainism, I find all religions to be more-or-less silly/offensive/just plain fallacious. There is one “spiritual” practice, however, which I can somewhat understand, if only in that it makes a teesny-tiny, infinitesimally wee bit o’ sense:

Ancestor Worship.

 

 

Yes, really.

Make that, ancestor veneration, not worship. For the love of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, get off your knees, open your eyes, and stop bowing your head – nobody should “worship” anything.

Worship: VERB
1.  [with object] Show reverence and adoration for (a deity)
1.1  [no object] Take part in a religious ceremony.
(English Oxford Living Dictionary)

Unlike the claims of religions which have one or more deities, you don’t have to take your ancestors’ existence on “faith”  [8]   – you know they have lived (you yourself are evidence of that); you’ve likely met them one, or two, or sometimes even three generations back. From the photo albums and other heirlooms to the birth certificates, school and county records, family businesses, homes, farmsteads, and kinfolk near and far, you’ve an idea of what they have “given” you, materially, intellectually and emotionally – you’ve some idea what you might be grateful for.

Best of all, you’ve little incentive to argue or go to war with other people over whose interpretation of what their imaginary friend wants is correct. Your neighbor’s ancestors are their business, and yours are yours….

Now then.  By ancestor veneration I’m not talking any kind of belief system wherein the dead are beseeched to intercede on behalf of the living – that’s just as silly as all the others (religions).  I do not believe that my deceased grandparents and parents have a continued existence in a spirit world, nor that their spirits look after moiself  and my family in particular or the world in general, nor that they somehow can influence the fate of the living.  I’m talking about a practice of honor and appreciation, in which a person might use the roads paved and trails blazed by previous generations as a focal point for remembrance and gratitude.

 

Thanks for the dimples, Dad.

 

I’m not sure what brought the previous topic to mind.  A likely suspect is the recent death of my mother.   [9]  Anyway, y’all have my permission to honor your ancestors…as well as my fervent wish that that is as far as your theology goes.  However, as I look at the state of the world, it appears that the old superstitions have some staying power.  As long as people continue to proclaim and dispute whose invisible leader is the bestest, I’d like someone to come up with another dog in the fight.

As the Bay Area’s own Huey Lewis once sang, I Want A New Drug.

Putting it yet another way, y’all have my encouragement (if you are religiously inclined) to come up with a new religion, within the following parameters: in this belief system, it is the men who are required, in one form or another, to cover themselves.

That’s it.

Yep. That’s the entire theology in a nutshell.    [10]

From a light veil or a hijab – make, that, a he-jab  –  to a full-body, Bro burqua, your theology must include all the usual nonsense reasons (modesty; an easily offended diety; protection from your fellow believers who will beat the holy crap out of you if you show any evidence of human form) as to why certain people –  in this case, those with boy parts –  must be covered in public.

Duuuuuuuude – put a scarf on it.

 

We swear on Her Holy name, it doesn’t make your butt look big, no, not at all.

 

*   *   *

Department of Employee Of The Month

It’s that time, to bestow that prestigious award upon moiself.  Again. The need for which I wrote about here.   [11] 

 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week    [12]

“Wicca is just extreme LARPing. Then again, so is every other religion.”
(Oliver Markus Malloy, writer and cartoonist, Inside The Mind of an Introvert

( LARPing = Live Action Role Playing, wherein participants dress in costume, use props,
and act out roles in a fantasy scenarios or multiplayer games. )

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May you be conscious of your LARPing;
May you attend at least one holiday bazaar (who *doesn’t* need a felt troll?);
May you remember that popcorn goes well with any Godzilla movie;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Specifically, in our pear tree.

[2] I did, the next evening.

[3] The historical pre-Christian-era religious beliefs of peoples in what are now the European countries and certain areas of North Africa and the Arabian Peninsula territories, Syria, and Turkey.

[4] Still not sure exactly what it is.

[5] Lutheran, specifically: what was once called the ALC and now ELCA, for those obsessives interested in denominational nitpicking, It wasn’t one of the “synod” denominations (Missouri & Wisconsin), which are closer to Catholicism in their conservative doctrines (e.g. women cannot be ordained as ministers; liking to snipe about other denominations as being the “not true” faiths) .

[6] Which I have, since leaving, recommended to people who for whatever reasons are looking for a liberal Christian church experience and/or community.

[7] Over 17 years, as of this writing.

[8] Although, especially at Thanksgiving when someone brings up politics, you may have to take them with a helluva big grain of salt.

[9] She died Christmas Eve, 2016.

[10] Which is the proper receptacle for all theologies.

[11] Several years ago, MH received a particularly glowing performance review from his workplace. As happy as I was for him when he shared the news, it left me with a certain melancholy I couldn’t quite peg.  Until I did.

One of the many “things” about being a writer (or any occupation working freelance at/from home) is that although you avoid the petty bureaucratic policies, bungling bosses, mean girls’ and boys’ cliques, office politics, and other irritations inherent in going to a workplace, you also lack the camaraderie and other social perks that come with being surrounded by your fellow homo sapiens.  No one praises me for fixing the paper jam in the copy machine, or thanks me for staying late and helping the new guy with a special project, or otherwise says, Good on you, sister. Once I realized the source of the left-out feelings, I came up with a small way to lighten them.

[12] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists.   No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

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