Looking down upon the son, he saw himself laid bare upon the cross. And it was bad.
His heart burned with dark coal and his hand rose as a mallet upon the cloud and summoned great strength to scare those who might now think themselves his equal. It was within his power to giveth and to taketh away.
But the night soon came and the tears washed away all desire to avenge, to create havoc which he innately held the power to create. He chose the path of resistance.
“See what you have done to me father?” the son asked, his soul tired and his heart faint. Their plan had worked. “See it for the whole world.”
The Father knew well what had happened. He knew that he had done this to his son, but his son was no victim but a benchmark to begin HIS time.
The Father ignored the son and looked upon others who might sanctify, who might know better than him. They were not there.
Time and it always went ticking by. He knew that it didn’t but the books said it was so. And it was good.
Curious things happened that were not intended.
People began to march one by one, to the cross to cry. Their tears swelled the canyon and soon a river flooded one village to the next, to the next, to the next, until we were all next… oh how the tears could flood.
Soon they made arks and ate apples. Soon they hated snakes and climbed ladders.
The Father was unsure about these turn of events.
So, HE raised HIS hand without knowing the plan. HE might have just as well summoned the whole litany of angles. But HE again chose the path resistance.
Books were then written, people were talked to; words that were well spoken, hearts that were constantly broken.
HE felt good about this.
One millennium passed. Then the next.
Darker spirits had jumped from the fire and cooled their hate along the salty plains.
Many spirits, some dark, some bright, jumped across the flooded rivers and brought the good words with them, naming this for that, that for this, all for HIM.
Soon such spirits faded in the dark, new spirits rose, some yet darker, some yet brighter.
With them a new Father was born.
This new Father, a step-father, cast aside the meek for HIS words decreed that only the strong shall inherit. Evolution was HIS name and he was not at that time stronger then the Father.
And so the Father did nothing.
Bars were created and people were kept behind them. They were then eliminated as part of the final solution.
White dresses marched with black suits and smiles were shared all around.
Men got around without walking. They had their own invention and they spat on the Father’s creation.
And HE held his hand high above them, always waiting to drop.
A great wave of smoke dried out a large village. Then another one. The meek have not inherited the earth.
How HE was angry. But he stuck to this path of resistance.
A man had a dream. He stood on a mountain, just below the Father, and had a peak at the valley below. The father touched him and he fainted. And he died not on a cross, but on a patio.
A nation gave themselves to the Father. The Father deemed them to be HIS, and to go forth and spread the message far and wide, quite and loud.
And they did.
A great battle was begun with no end in sight; every day since the son, men and women have lost the battle but the war band continued to be tight.
This caused some to wonder whether the good words were in fact good in nature.
They turned to the new Father because his new good was more rational.
Children who had looked inward now looked outward and the message began to spread in conflict with that message of the nation.
Two tall hands, that had reached for the Father for many years, fell to the bottom of the land and some tears rained, some of them joyful and some of them sorrowful.
The Father raised his hand yet again. But he resisted. He again chose the path of resistance.
The people took a big straw to earth and sucked black milkshakes.
The father waited.
Such milkshakes gave them ideas and then wrote books that used many words to dispel the good word.
Books were also now written announcing the good word for a buck.
But HE did not smash the earth with HIS mighty hand.
More villages dried. The tears no longer fell. Soon that canyon dried and so did the good word, which had become stale as the body of the Son.
But the Father did not smash his hand in desperation. He kept it dangling in the heavens, always a threat but never an action.
And soon the Son returned to share the new message.
“You hesitated too long.”
And now the world was on a new flood without the Father, who retired his hand and sat down only to observe.
ONE MORE SMOKE FOR THE ROAD
9 years ago