Kaminski: Where is heaven?
- Where is heaven?
Muddy and bloody
in Louisiana and Iraq
By John Kaminski
Our unconfronted fear of death makes us kill all those people.
When you cover up life with myth and ritual, you can't see anything
for what it is.
A long time ago I wrote: "We are animals in the sunshine, and we go to
parrot school ... "
So we feebly follow the inescapable echoes of our own conditioning and
predispositions, and this leads us to the dead end the species
termination we are now facing.
Those men in European castles whose objective is to cull the herd of
its ragamuffin rifraff are also led by their echoes, demented schemes
of dominion rotting them from within in the dark shadows of their own
putrid souls, but of course that doesn't stop them from ever pandering
to the fecklessly faithful on their way to scheduled slaughters.
As high-tech oppression closes in on us from all sides, we seek
sanctuary in the loving arms of another, only to see them drift off,
the quintessential ship under sail in the turbulent night of human
society. It was where you thought it was safe, that shoulder on the
pillow. As close to heaven as one can get on this furry plane of
"What hope, then?" you ask. "We are speeding toward dust. Where is the
peace of mind located?"
From my memory, the Chinese guys smile at me; well, smirk, really.
"You know what's out there," they chide me. "Walk among the flames and
you get burned."
And I am reminded of the way of all living things, only an
indiscernible eyeblink in the mind of the universe, or an eternity of
misery for those in unfortunate locations wearing unfashionable skin.
Those Chinese guys laugh at the question, "Where is heaven?" Heck,
they've been saying the same thing for 2500 years. I love the way they
seize up like fat cherubs before spitting out the obvious truth.
"It's right in front of you, always has been, always will be."
The quest for every living human on the planet is: Now that you know
that, what will you do about it?
What will you do about your son who put a spittle of bullets into the
chest of a kerchiefed Iraqi woman while he was high on Quaaludes and
listening to heavy metal on his I-pod? What will you do when he comes
home, and his lovely government tells him to do the same thing here,
in New Orleans, to keep those mothers who were scrambling for Pampers
What if your son was one of those British guys who were caught trying
to foment violence in Basra, revealing the whole sorry scam of the
U.S., Britain and Israel actually causing the very violence they
insist they are fighting? Can you say Osama bin Laden? Let's demand an
audit of his CIA pay stubs.
It all fits perfectly if you know about 9-11, and how the American
government deliberately sacrificed 3,000 of its own citizens so, in
Zbigniew Brzezinski's words, we could be more autocratic abroad. Even
the Israelis' phony suicide bombing scheme has been exposed, although
they've taken it on the road with Blackwater mercenaries to Iraq with
deadly success. It's what they do.
Did you ever spend a speck of time thinking about what it was like to
be living in the New Orleans Superdome waiting for a bus. Your entire
previous life's possessions were swamped under a chemically poisoned
brew, and the only words you heard were, "The bus is coming."
That's the promise to the whole world vomited out by the warped robots
who control our lives, "The bus is coming." A bus to nowhere that
never comes. That's humanity's future, on its present course.
That's what happened in New Orleans, waiting for that bus (a
Halliburton vehicle, I believe). And with her last drowning breath,
she cried: "Where is heaven?"
So you rail at the meat grinder carousel as it spins past, crushing
and poisoning living beings without a second thought. So far, most of
you have not really been caught in it, but when you are, you'll know.
It won't be heaven then, but for some, it still is, now. Work to
preserve what's left of what humans, in their small-minded blindness,
For God's sake, man, use some common sense. If we let these crimes
pass unnoticed because we are in some way rewarded for them, then we
are only dooming ourselves and our children to more poison.
The real god is time, and we must worship every millisecond of it. Do
what you think is right, and don't worry about the consequences. Soon
you will learn that actions you can take actually change the future.
And one day we will all learn that every single event in each our
lives has a tangible and measurable effect on every single bit, in
every nook and cranny, in every possible backwater truckstop in the
Heaven is a moment. It is now. Go there and do what you can to fix the
Garden of Eden. This is no random suggestion. If we don't fix it, we
all die, and soon. The only heaven is to build something that all can
use, and that's something we all dearly want. Make it real. And make
it kind. The only worthwhile thing human beings really possess is
I'm telling you. It's right here, right now. Make it so. Any way you
can make it happen is all right by me.
John Kaminski is a writer who lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida whose
essays are seen on hundreds of websites around the world.
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