American Gods (Or Why Neil Gaiman is Badass)

If modern America has gods, then our Zeus is Kermit the Frog.

This occurred to me as I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade last week. Some Disney Channel pre-stripper was riding on a float and singing a duet with KtF, and the only thing I could think was, "I want to meet Kermit." In the big, grand scheme of things, I suppose there could be worse gods to have.

The Valley of the Shadow of Sleep

I have to ask myself, "Self, why are you still awake?"

To which I reply, "I was inspired by the soft darkness and the gentle sounds of summer night."

As someone who is utterly, undeniably afraid of the dark, I see a strange irony in this. It's a sick thrill of mine to stand on the back porch (in my nice, safe neighborhood) and see how long I can stay out in the dark before my heart starts racing and I flee to the safey of my brightly-lit kitchen. All of my senses remain on edge, and my mind races to keep up with my heartbeat. (therearemonstersinthetodashdarkness) Though I suppose there is something to be said about facing one's fears, I can never bring myself to turn around and look through the glass of the door I just fled through, for I fear of what might be looking back at me. It must surely be some gruesome spector, or more likely, a more subtle incarnation of my fear-a simple shadow, slightly darker than the rest, radiating malevolence and hunger. My own imagination turns against me in the darkness. I must battle with myself to conquer the swell of terror and dread that grows inside me as I stand rooted in the middle of my kitchen. The sounds of night creep in: the croaking of frogs, the songs of cicadas and crickets, and the wind moving softly through the closely entertwined branches of the oak trees. Surely such gentle, soft noises couldn't hide such a horror as I imagined. I breathe deeply and feel my muscles begin to loosen one at a time, as the warmth and familiarity of my surroundings pulls me back to safety. Still, I do not look out the window. I will never trust the darkness, it seems. It may inspire me, thrill me, even excite me, but I will never find sanctuary in the shadows.

The Return of the Prodigal Blogger

And God said, "Let there be Stuff."

And so there was.

I've had God on my mind a lot lately, and I've come to the conclusion that he must be a pretty smart dude/tte. <--I've decided that gender doesn't matter when you're the Supreme Ruler of the Whole Damn Universe. I spend a great deal of time surrounded by nay-sayers and doom-sayers and just plain dumbasses, and I've realized that letting the opinions of others color my faith leads down paths that are best left untrodden. My mind and heart are always open to new ideas and paths to enlightenment, but I finally reached a point in my life where I had to make a choice. Do I, or Don't I?

It wasn't a choice, really. There was nothing to decide. It simply was, is, and will always be. I blame it all on Christmas music and the ever-so-cleverly underlit church steeple that I pass every day on my way to and from work.

I owe a large part of my renewed faith to my big sister. She had the words I needed to hear, at a time in my life when I desperately needed to hear them. I don't know if I ever told her so, but if you're reading this, Thank You. I also have my best friends to thank. I have two of the most incredible women in the world to call my friends. They come at me from both ends of the spectrum, and they're both beautifully relentless.

To those of you expecting the usual sarcasm and bitter humor-don't worry, it hasn't gone anywhere. I simply had a declaration to make first.