We’ve got the God thing all wrong. No other explanation makes sense. To be fair, recorded history proves that human beings have had quite a long time to sort things out. We can’t say we’ve been in the dark, can we? We can’t say we haven’t had the chance to see what works and what doesn’t. We can’t blame our silly behavior on not knowing the score. Like Martha Stewart, we know everything. We know everything and have everything we possibly could want. We have dominion over the earth. But having it, we nonetheless are hell bent to repeat the same tired mistakes — from individual to individual, family to family, race to race, nation to nation, era to era. Wouldn’t you agree that our dismal human performance defies all logic? Yes indeed. Until you grasp a staggering, perhaps scurrilous supposition. God isn’t perfect. There. It’s said. What a relief. If you had uttered those words before the 20th century, you would have been hanged or beheaded (if you were lucky). But now you can stop beating yourself up. Now you can get off that guilt trip because you will never measure up. Consider this — you were made in His Image. Unquestionably, image must represent a lot more than simple physical appearance. If this conclusion is valid, and why wouldn’t it be, you are much closer to God than you think. Then consider something else. He may not be alone. He may be one of hundreds, or thousands or millions of other Deity. Maybe, beyond human comprehension, there exists a massive God–filled dimension. Maybe our Master is COO of Earth Properties. Maybe those we call Pagans had it right all along. They appealed to reason, searching for clues to their own absurd conduct. They envisioned Gods at war, Gods competing with Each Other. Gods struggling with Their own cans of worms. Jealous Gods, permissive Gods, heroic Gods, mean Gods, proud Gods, stuffy Gods. This theory, banished as heresy, suddenly gets us off the schnide. We suddenly understand why and how the material world has changed, but the human race has remained immaculately static. Despite every advance in science and technology, despite every material achievement, human behavior has remained irrevocably fixed. Stuck in time. From day one. We delude ourselves into believing that, unlike the rest of earth’s creatures that are manipulated by instinct, we alone possess cognitive powers to choose, improve and regulate our behavior. What unmitigated bunk. We are no more in control of life’s equation than the lowliest slug burrowing in the dark, wet mire. We behave as we do because, like salmon that swim upstream against all odds to lay their eggs, we simply cannot behave in any other way. We are predestined — genetically engineered to act out our little lives as direct descendants of the God that created us. We are as predictable as the movement of the heavens, as constant as the tides, as infallible as gravity itself. Logically, therefore, it must be true that we mimic the One who made us. So He’s not perfect. So He made a few mistakes. It’s not the end of the world. And, anyway, no other explanation makes sense in a nonsensical world.

Among all things above and below the sea, the lowest form of life would have to be The Human. No other specie is so despicable in so many ways. We are so thoroughly flawed that we are compelled to build great cathedrals where we gather to confess our worthlessness. We didn’t ask to be contemptible. We didn’t ask to commit unspeakable acts, to lie, murder, rape, steal and cheat. These are just things we humans tend to do, like scarfing donuts or watching TV soaps. It’s not that we don’t try to do better. Ted Bundy said that most of the time he was a pretty nice guy. He just had occasional lapses. No telling how many great things the Fannie and Freddie bigwigs did for their communities as they simultaneously destroyed the life savings of millions. So it goes. It’s just being human. It’s what we do. Do for others and do a little cocaine. Give and take. Nobody’s perfect. Who among us dares pass judgment? If by chance you have doubt about human vileness, witness those of us who litter—the millions of humans who willy-nilly toss garbage on public and private property. Above all other crimes, littering proves that humans reside at the bottom of the food chain. Occupying the lowest link of that chain would have to be the cigarette litterbugs. With premeditation and contempt for others, they toss billions of butts on roadways, sidewalks, golf courses, parks—everywhere and anywhere. Who are these slobs? None other than our friends and neighbors, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters and grandmas. If the human being could evolve to a non-littering state, perhaps we would move up a notch among the millions of other organisms; say, just above the millipede. Then we might have a leg to stand on. Yet, standing up is uniquely human. From pole to pole, we risk everything in defense of our fellow man. While the millipede slithers along oblivious to the suffering of the centipede, valiant people quietly and heroically reach across cities and continents to touch souls they will never even know. They leap into burning buildings. They plunge into raging rivers. Forsaking all that is precious, they give “their last full measure of devotion” in the name of humanity. Who are these people? Why, none other than a pack of liars, cheaters and litterbugs. Who can figure? God only knows.

Monday was tough. Up at 5. By 6:20 aboard a B737 from Myrtle Beach vacation to Newark via Charlotte. Lucky to have an aisle seat next to a sleeper. No such blessing the next leg; center seat next to a smeller. Using age-old diaper-changing technique, breathed through mouth for a full hour and forty minutes, praying BO couldn’t be airborne and absorbed in skin or clothing. Lucky the gate was near the Newark airport monorail, but the line at Dollar Car Rental neutralized that advantage. When you’re in line, why do transactions take 10-15 minutes; then, when it’s your turn, you’re outta there in three minutes? Simple. You were the only customer who spoke English. Got the car, hit the gate, down the up-ramp, up the down-ramp, merged into a six-laner and reenacted the chase scene from Speed. Two toll booths and one illegal turn later, joined a meeting in progress somewhere in N.J. Sat down, started to say something, but the Hoagies arrived, and being situated at the end of the table, you fortunately were able to serve as director of luncheon refuse. Meeting resumed, with simultaneous comments from three people. Lucky you’re a speed listener. But your plastic pen suddenly leaked, forcing you to find a bathroom sink. Made it back to learn decisions couldn’t be reached which was just as well because you only had 50 minutes to make the hour’s drive for the flight back. Luckily, the freeway traffic was only bumper-to-bumper which left the emergency lane wide open. Last passenger on board US Despair 934. Made record time which extended the two-hour layover at Charlotte to nearly three, providing ample time to ingest a year’s allotment of fat over 65 obituaries in three newspapers. Arrived balmy MB International and 45 agonizing minutes later your ride showed. Seems the clock on the beach house stove was on the fritz. Time: 10:22 p.m. Early the following morning, the Atlantic was a lake. Glistening mullet plopped here and there on the gentle swells. Figured yesterday was 17-hour day …14 travel, 2 meeting, 1 eating and scrubbing ink stains. Floating lazily, wondered aloud … “Was it worth it?” Luckily, the mullet weren’t interested.