Among a variety of sensations, the first thing that was clear as a stable pattern was the two dots. There were many sounds as well, but the patterns of the sounds did not keep the attention held.
The two dots just remained steady in contrast to many other things in the background were moving around. The focus rested on the two dots.
That was the familiar pattern. Everything else was interpreted relative to those two familiar dots.
Though the dots were quite consistent, they did change. Somtimes, they slowly got larger and grew in to two big circles. However, they could get smaller again and they could even disappear. Sometimes they disappeared just for a flash and sometimes they disappeared for what seemed like an eternity.
But eventually the two dots would reappear later. Soon, it was recognized that even when they were gone, they would come back again. They would always come back.
By the way, these were very important dots. Not only were these dots my familiar reference that helped me to make sense of everything else, but these were the dots that marked the presence of the angel.
It was from the angel that I learned to use words. At first, I did not even know that the words were even words. They were just sounds.
I heard the sounds that she made and I practiced making sounds, too. Sometimes the sounds that I made were a little bit like the sounds that she made.
She got very excited about some of the sounds that I made. Sometimes her two round dots got very large right after I made a particular sound, so I would do my best to repeat that sound again.
She knew how to make a lot of different sounds. I copied the sounds that she made and eventually I learned to recognize a few different patterns of sounds. One of my favorites was “dog” and another was “no.”
I made it a point to tell every dog “no” (very loudly). If I had any situation in which it might be relevant to say “no” to the dog, I would say “no” at least two times. I also learned to swing one of my fingers for emphasis: “NO!”
Soon, the magic dots of the angel’s eyes were not quite as important to me. Her words became more important than the dots.
Her voice was familair. Her phrases were familiar. I compared everything else to her words. Her words were the foundation of how I related to the world.
If someone said something that was contrary to what the angel often said to me, then of course I could dismiss what the new idea as not only unfamiliar but obviously completely stupid. I would wave my finger and shout “NO!”
Those who were disrespectful enough to argue deserved to have me shout “NO!” at them very loudly and many times. Some people even said that the angel was inaccurate even if sincere. Once, someone was so totally dumb that they accused the angel of intentionally misleading me.
That was simply impossible. The angel would never mislead me because the angel was incapable of deception. Further, even if the angel had been capable of deception, which she was not because she clearly told me so directly, there was another issue.
The angel would never have lied to me. The angel cared for me more than any other creature in all of existence. I was her favorite.
Other people said “you are just the youngest. If the angel had another child, you might suddenly no longer be her favorite. She would give her attention to the younger child because it would be more depedent on her than you are.”
I do not know who these people thought that they were, but they obviously did not even know my angel. Well, if they did not her, they did not know her as well as I did, right!
One morning, the angel was sitting on top of a Christmas tree reading a book to me. She said, “this is the story of my favorite baby in the world, Jesus.”
I already knew that I was her favorite, so obviously she was just reading the words in the book out loud. Plus, I was clearly not a baby any more, right?
So, she then opened up the book and looked down to begin reading. “One very special morning, Santa Claus climbed down through the chimney in our home and brought us some presents from Jesus. One of the presents was an ancient book in which a long list of magic words had been written down. The words had been memorized for hundreds of years prior to them being written down. Then, they were translated from one language to another. The book was so sacred that every time someone had to go to court and face the possibility of punishment, they had to put their hand on the book and then say that they promised to tell the truth or else their soul should be sent to eternal punishment in a hell of guilt.”
Shortly after the angel paused to turn the page, I suddenly realized that even though the angel loved me more than she loved anyone else, she was an idiot. We did not even have a chimney in our home!
I eventually concluded that she was possessed by demon. Most of the time, she seemed to know that we did not have a chimney in our home. However, every time that she sat on top of the Christmas tree and read me a story about Santa, she talked about a chimney that anyone could see was only in the book. There just was no chimney in our house.
It’s not that she was a liar. It’s not that she was sincere about us having a chimney but just inaccurate. She was possessed.
I found out from someone else that the name of the demon that possessed the angel was Senility. Senility possessed her mind and made her say idiotic things, but only sometimes. Occasionally the demon would leave and it would just be her talking.
Eventually, the demon of Senility was replaced by a new demon called Dementia. That demon possessed her and never left.
I hate that demon. If I ever run in to that demon in a dark alley, I am going to punch it in the face with an imaginary chimney.
Once, a high priest from the religion of disease management told me that he thought I might also be possessed. He said, “there is probably a entity living inside you called cancer and it is growing bigger and spreading from your mouth to your fingertips every time that you invoke the demon by saying it’s name.”
I said “do you mean that I have cancer in my mouth?” He said, “No, but when you talk about it, you are casting a spell to invoke the demon and it appearas in your mouth as you speak and then spreads throughout your body.”
I said, “Oh, okay, That makes total sense. So do you know how to cure this demon?”
The high priest raised his finger and said “NO!” as if I had just questioned his competence in the realm of promoting health, which is absolutely the last thing that I would ever do. He said, “I personally do not know how to cure it which proves scientifically that it cannot be cured by anyone and will never be cured by anyone. It is incurable. By the way, can you spare a few dollars to donate to our program to conduct research for a cure for cancer?”
Obviously, he had been possessed by Dementia, so I told him to stick his head up an imaginary chimney and I walked away. But as I left, that is right when I met Santa and so the story suddenly had a huge amount of suspense as well as a frightening soundtrack.
“Santa,” I asked him, “do you believe that the Sumerian version of the creation story or the Vedic version of creation story is the most accurate?” In case you did not know, the reason that I asked Santa these kind of things from time to time is because he is a widely-respected expert in the field of religion.
Santa replied, “look, you don’t really believe that aliens could have come to this planet and somehow mated with earthlings to then create a hybrid race, do you? That would be like a farmer breeding a horse with a donkey just to make a hybrid that has some of the characteristics of both species. Why would aliens ever do something like that, and then put some leaders in place to supervise the hybrids, and then publicize some stories that confuse the hybrid livestock and make them easier to govern? You’re not one of those conspiracy theorists, are you?”
“No, Santa, of course not!” I shook my finger to emphasize how ridiculous his question was. “I saw President Bush on TV talking about a theory of a conspiracy in which a bunch of people planned to hijack some airplanes and cause a bunch of damage and deaths. However, I know that there is no such thing as a conspiracy. I read in the sacred book that there have not been any conspiracies for the last 623 years and there are no more conspiracies scheduled for at least another 309 years, so please do not insult me any further or else I will have to beat you to death with a sacred book, and I really do not want to get blood on the book, right? You see what I mean, don’t you?”
Santa and I winked at each other casually and then pretended to act like we were just reading a fake script that the director of the movie had hired us to read. I continued: “So, Santa, what do you think of the threat of another divine apocalypse to coerce the humans in to increased compliance with our latest innovations in systems of involuntary government?”
He replied, “Look, you and I both know that something like that would never work. You can’t just frighten humans in to giving you a portion of their wealth by threatening to punish them if they do not comply with your tax extortion system. First, you have to give them some conceptual enemy so that they can think of themselves as saving the world from evil by participating in your system of compulsory redistribution.”
I had not thought of that. I was impressed by Santa’s scholarly insight.
“Dude,” Santa said to me with a surprisingly sexy smile, “all of that stuff was in the sacred book that the angel sitting on top of the Christmas tree used to read to you. Don’t you remember? When she read you that stuff definitely was long before she was possessed by the demon of dementia, so you should worship it with your attention (even if you attack it with rebellious skepticism… because that still is worshiping something to vilify it obsessively). In conclusion, you should pay more attention next time. Of course, you were probably not even listening and were just staring in to her two dots, right?”