David Koresh and the New Gods

Imagine that God is real. You worship, you live a pious life, don't diddle children and genuinely try to be a good person.  You've worked hard the entirety of your fleeting existence with the promise of one day being reunited with friends and family lost to time and strife in those gold streets, protected behind cubit measured gilded walls spoken of in Revelations.  

Then one day, a facsimile of a man comes along and he tells you "I'm sorry, but God says that I have to fuck your wife."  

You're obviously repulsed, bordering on physical violence, but deftly dispel the urge to harm this plainly mentally ill man. Later that night, during your evening prayers, you ask God for strength and counsel in this matter, -- for the first time in your life, God replies: "Yes, my child, I have decided that David Koresh must ravage the innards of your wife; you have been honorably discharged from being dishonorably in charge of your fate."

So, now your path is sealed, David is now pooning your wife; you move in with him because he has a plethora of guns and, God has spoken to you after all; you know this cannot possibly be wrong, even as you fall asleep to the sounds of the mother of your children gagging on some mullet headed cock every night, you stand resolute, -- yet internally waning. Has it always been this way?  You couldn't fathom the idea of becoming Job in modern times, those were merely parables by which to illustrate that implicit faith is internally and eternally rewarded, no lackadaisical loyalty here.

You wonder what you've done to cross the Creator, where have you erred and strayed from the right handed path to be subjected to left handed rites wrist deep in your children, -- yet, this is the Divine Way, there aren't 8 spokes on this wheel of Samsara, oh Buddha, no wheel at all -- just fleshy rods, a coven bound by semen and cordite supervised by an Allfather whose raven has died and remaining eye plucked away from this corporeal realm of shame. At least that God is blind now, because you're not.

God does not honor your lamentations, -- when your God fails you, you get a new God and He is also mysterious, -- you erect an altar to government to become your God now, you fashion totems in the likeness of Janet Reno, and instead of Michael, fire and brimstone is wrought by the fire branded sword of modern times, your local ATF agents.

Man has conjured many gods to speak on their behalf: volcanoes erasing entire populations and preserving them in perpetuity must surely be because we didn't sacrifice the right virgin; a tornado hurled your horses across Oklahoma because you didn't smoke the peace pipe and commune with Wakan Tanka.  Humanity seeks, strives for, explanation.  

In place of the Old Gods, they now worship at the altars of celebrities, politicians, television, movies, and music stars -- attempting to gain some grand insight into the world; CNN and "tastemakers" or social media "influencers" direct your consumption, while you subsume all sense of reality or meaning; their consumption is curated by the ever changing ethos of corporate overlords who maintain oligarchy of government but of mind, as well. 

There are codices one must follow, each one more esoteric than the last, each one more contradictory than before; they soon come to resemble Sunni's and Shi'ites, twelvers and seveners, Whabbists and Salafists and indifferent Sufi's, the Bedouins gaze in passing.

Social Justice only is meaningful insofar as it is a marketable consumable, a point by which victimhood can supplant talent and ability; the journalists have told you that you're oppressed, now fall before the altar of shame and lay prostrate upon the intricate fake blood inlaid floor which depicts only an arid abyss. 

You've become Candide, -- but instead of a garden to tend, there are but wispy memories fading and dissipating on forlorn currents, detritus addled loam, a fusty cargo of human excreta among dust and cobwebs. Prayers have been answered for all!

I tend to my vegetables and my flowers, I add leaf compost to my night blooming jasmine, wondering what might have been, but I'm sure someone will be along again soon to tell me what is and what is not; maybe it'll be a new god.  

Be mindful the gods you pray to, they'll betray you in the end; true as it was since man conjured them, as true as it is of their replacements in modern times.