Religion in a Bottle

In time of spiritual tumult, when tough questions are asked to be answered or ignored, a fear came down from above. What if there was nothing? This fear did not pertain to life after death, meaning in the everyday, or any of the big tantamount fears casually tossed about like rag dolls. The treacherous feeling creeping in my stomach as my family drove through the idles of Kentucky, was connected to the loss of magic. What is religion but explanation for the strange and weird? Without a belief in the almighty can one harbor hopes in the berths of ghosts, coincidence, and other manifestations appearing for no reason at all.

In other words: What would become of the magic?

My fourteen year old had a slippery grip on the nature of everything, he even liked Slipknot. A belief called to me but I was unwilling to make the leap. It shut too many doors, made the world too small. We can mask our beliefs, but deep down at the core of it, we feel their resonance.

God has no place in my life. I'd rather concentrate my efforts on pigeon racing, skirt chasing, and lustrous endeavors of this cynical realm. I reject him/her like Marcus Camby, all long limbed and injury prone.

The secular world has done a world of good for my thought, my joy, and my heart, but at the core of it everything is spiritual. Magic is everywhere! I can't do anything without seeing the forces at work.

Example 1: The Pierre Turgeon Corollary

Pierre Turgeon was a high scoring centre in the NHL through the 80's and 90's, playing for the Sabres, Islanders, and Blues among other teams. He wasn't the best, which is why I liked him.

The best is never appealing. True beauty falls in falling just short and abysmal failure. This is why my favorite athletes of all time are Charles Barkley, Karl Malone, and Roy Williams of the moribund Detroit Lions franchises. (Note: Roy might be in the pantheon because he lived near me and talked to my friends and I when we knocked on his door.)

Trading cards at school was a favorite activity among the latchkey kids in my school. One fine day, I managed to procure a Turgeon All Star Card. I put it in my folder and put the folder in my backpack for safe keeping. I continued playing and drooling before going home for the day. It was my last moments of blissful innocence for when I got home the Turgeon was gone!

I searched high and low in every possible crevice. How dumb could I be? This was a Pierre Turgeon! One of the top ten goal scorers in the NHL! The very same Pierre Turgeon who was traded for Pat LaFontaine! THE PAT LaFONTAINE!

I couldn't find the card and moved on with life, forever embittered. Two weeks later, after multiple rounds of laundry, I felt something in my pocket while I ate a breakfast of WaffleCrisp (love those nooks and crannies). I looked in my pocket and there it was! PIERRE TURGEON!

Example 2: The Franzia Phenomenon

Drinking is good sometimes. When idle or stricken with malaise I indulge in the sauce. While I have been known to dabble in the church of Chimay, my economic stature limits me to the alleys of Miller High Life ("Cheaper than water" according to a certain LaPenna) and wine that comes in boxes.

This isn't the classiest distinction. Esquire would surely revoke my subscription if they knew. I make up for it by drinking out of the loveliest goblets, carved silver numbers.

These goblets fit nicely under the plastic tap and are able to take the fill. I watch the liquid pour in and once satisfied, attempt to close it. My fingers are too fat! They don't fit around the tap! I struggle and adjust to no avail. THIS WILL BE MESSY! It isn't.

At the very precipice of a mess gigantic, the tap becomes friendly and allows me to close it. I look down at my glass and see that it's filled to the exact perfect spot.


There are more examples but I'm lacking in the gusto department tonight. Procrastination does that to a man.



God wouldn't care about this shit.