Where Everyone Knows Your Name

Okay:

One of the five remembrances of the Buddha is "You will die some day; there is no way to escape death."

Heavy, huh?

The other day I got into a long debate with a friend of mine about what happens to you after you die. I discovered that I have a rather unconventional theory. Most people, I think, regardless of whether or not they subscribe to some organized religion, believe that after you die you go to Heaven or you go to Hell.

And most people believe that your actions here on earth will dictate what happens to you in the afterlife.

I think that's a crock of shit.

Of course, people who believe that also believe that God speaks to certain people and tells them to write books to spread his Word, even though up until a few hundred years ago, most of the world was illiterate. Imagine if God spoke to a prophet in today's world and told him to write a New Testament in html code. The computer geeks could make a killing saving souls.

I do believe, however, that nothing can ever really be destroyed. It merely changes shape. Death, in my opinion, is a transition. But if your physical body changes or decomposes, then it stands to reason that your consciousness would also change. Perhaps it would become something that you could not recognize. Assuming, of course, that there is still a "you".

Maybe the things that we stress out about every day don't amount to a hill of beans in the world that awaits us after death. Adultery. Murder. Rape.

Maybe God doesn't care about that kind of stuff. Maybe there is no punishment or reward. Maybe things are a bit more complicated than we think they are. Maybe there is no God, in the Divine deity sense of the word.

Or maybe God is like a Kindergarten teacher. If we're nice and we share and we don't tell lies and we play fair and we learn what we're supposed to learn, then we get some graham crackers and milk and twenty minutes of recess.

I'm sorry, but that sounds a lot like wishful thinking to me.

So what happens after you die?

Here's my theory.

See, throughout history people have imagined God to be like a strict but loving parent. I think God is more like a child. A toddler, in fact. We're his toys. He made us out of clay. And like a child loves his toys, so does God love us.

When we die, we go back to the big Play Dough wad in the sky. Whether or not we were good or bad, murderers or painters, saints or sinners, is a matter of what pleases him in that moment.

There is no justice.

There is no order.

Or...

You go to a nice pub where everyone knows your name, the women are easy and the beer doesn't taste like piss water. Now that's a heaven I can believe in.


Thanks for reading.

GOBAMA!

LISTEN TO MY MUSIC AND WATCH VIDEOS AT
http://www.blackbroadway-online.com

Confession: When I was a teenager, I honestly believed that I would be dead before thirty. As a result, I really didn't plan for adulthood. Now I'm playing catch up.

Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Scientology But Were Afraid To Ask

Okay:

So I was on a date the other day. I took the young lady to a nice Thai restaurant just outside of downtown. I love Thai food, by the way. They do amazing things with peanuts.

My date, however, was not as fond of their creative use of the peanut. She had a very hard time finding something the on the menu that suited her tastes. For a moment I considered suggesting that we go to another restaurant but opted against it. I had my mouth all ready for some Seafood Panang.

Selfish, I know.

After the meal, we went for a walk to tour the shops and passed the Washington Scientology Center. "What do you know about Scientology?" she asked.

"Not much," I admitted. "It was started by a science fiction writer named L. Ron Hubbard and they don't believe in psychology."

"Oh," she said.

"Tom Cruise, Isaac Hayes and John Travolta are all Scientologists," I added. "And Brandy."

"Brandy?"

"Yeah. Brandy," I said. "I don't know how she got mixed up with that lot but I hear she's pretty deep into it."

"Wow."

"There's also aliens and shit, and some kind of spacecraft involved. And they use a cross so I'm assuming there's some Jesus to it."

"Freaky."

We absent-mindedly went about our business, browsing the shops, until the time on my meter ran out. While walking back to the car we were stopped by a young happy white guy in a vest, white shirt and tie. "Hey," he said, extra friendly, "Would you two like to see an informational film about Scientology? I have some free passes for you."

"Hell yeah," I said. "When does it start?"

"Right now if you're interested."

The young and happy white guy escorted us into the building and directed us downstairs to a private screening room. I had passed this building perhaps one hundred times in my life and had always been slightly curious about what it looked like on the inside. It looked a lot like a really nice college. A bit of a bland disappointment, but it was markedly clean.

There were lots of happy white people scurrying about. And one middle-aged black body builder, to be fair. It was difficult to determine what they were all doing, just coming and going I suppose.

The projectionist was a little happy white woman. She made sure we were comfortable and then went off closing the door behind her. Moments later the lights dimmed and the film started.

I was struck with an idea.

"Hey," I said to my date. "How hot would it be to make out during an informational film about Scientology? You can't make this shit up."

"No," she said, giggling. "The minute we get started they're going to barge in here and kick us out."

"That's the point," I said. "It's not fun unless we get caught."

My advances were rejected and I soon resigned to the boring notion of simply paying attention to the film. It was hosted by a real John Edwards looking motherfucker. You know, a real perfect American LL Bean catalogue white boy with flawless hair.

He went around holding infomercial-style interviews with staff members at Scientology offices across the country. They talked about L. Ron Hubbard, Dianetics, Auditing and dispelled any misgivings about Scientology's validity as a world religion. In the reaction shots, the host nodded his head repeating "Yes", "Mm Hm" and "I see". It was all ridiculously contrived. Still, it was hardly what one would consider informative on more than a surface level.

Then came the testimonies. An astronaut. A construction worker. A secretary. A black Baptist minister who exclaimed, "Scientology is a vair', vair' powaful thang."

Then the celebrities. Tom Cruise. John Travolta. Isaac Hayes. And Kirstie Alley, who I did not know about.

Then it was time for the host to seal the deal. Hard sell time. He stood in the lobby of a Scientology office building. The camera zoomed in on him. His eyes narrowed.

"You could leave this theatre today and not do anything with the information you've just received, never make another inquiry about Scientology. You would be stupid. But you could. You could also jump off a bridge or take a gun and blow your brains out. Or you could change your life for the better, starting today."

Of course, they hounded us a bit after we left the theatre. They offered us more brochures, a complimentary DVD. The more questions we asked though, the more she encouraged us to buy one of Hubbard's 60 or so books.

I left thinking, "It's not a church. It's an international fucking book store."

On the way to the car my date asked me, "So what about the aliens and shit?"

"I guess you gotta buy the books," I said. "Sheesh. At least Bibles are free."



Thanks for reading.

GOBAMA!

LISTEN TO MY MUSIC AND WATCH VIDEOS AT:
http://www.blackbroadway-online.com

Innocent Question: Don't you think this story would have been so much better if we had gotten kicked out for hunching during the movie? I gotta stop hanging with prudes.