HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GINNY
GINNY WOULD HAVE BEEN FIFTY-ONE TODAY
But, Of Course, She Died In August
And I still think about her every day. It would be nice to believe that she knows that. I carry on as if she did. But, honestly, I don't believe it. I know that there is a spiritual dimension to the universe. I know all life is connected, somehow. I know that all sentient beings are linked, in some way. But I don't believe there's a malevolent Santa Claus in the sky who cares if we masturbate, and sends plagues if we do, and puts children in Hell. It's too good to be true.
I don't see any evidence of intelligent management, much less design. I'm afraid that when we die, we just cease to exist. Our bodies rot away, just so much meat. Our minds are lost forever, like stuff you forget to save before your computer crashes. Our souls, our hearts, our hopes, our dreams, I don't know. No one does. But that's no reason to just make something up, is it? And fight and die and kill to force other people to believe it, too? Good a reason as any, I guess.
Well, I won't be killing you over this. But I am pretending that there really is this awfully nice place called Heaven, and that Ginny is very happy up there. Because, otherwise, I have to believe that her incredibly painful, frustrating and unrewarding life was all there ever was, and all there ever will be for her. And I can't do that to her. Because I still love her. So, in the absence of God, or any real evidence of God, I have to play God, and make up a God, and a Heaven and lots of good stuff to put in it, just for Ginny.
Well, your lost loved ones can go there, too, if you want. I'm easy, as Gods go. No assholes allowed, though. I'm not THAT easy. I have to keep Heaven nice for my Ginny. She had way too much pain and trouble and general unpleasantness in her life, when she was alive. Now she should only have good things.
Things like spicy Tex-Mex food and decaf Dr. Pepper. Hot chocolate and fresh oranges. Warm sunshine and no miserable North Dakota snow and ice. Nice, warm, friendly, funny, creative people surrounding her, giving her lots of those hugs and kisses she never got from those icey, snowy NoDaks. Or me, since I never made it there, worthless asshole that I am. For a God.
Anyway, Ginny, I'll keep this Heaven pretense up there for you as long as I live, which, hopefully, won't be too much godawful longer. It's not the same without you. I can take the Heaven down any time, if you don't want it any more. It's no trouble, though. Don't give it up on my account. Anyway, maybe there is an imaginary universe out there, somewhere, and my Heaven, your Heaven, somehow exists there, as pure thought made real.
I doubt it. But, on the off chance that there is, maybe I can keep it going after I die by pulling myself on up into it, as I go. Not sure of the physics of that. Maybe you could give me a clue, a hint, some kind of sign? Let me know if you want it, if it's possible, and how to go about it. Shapes in the clouds would be OK. Or bugs forming words on the ground. Or maybe you could be on TV, in the snow or something.
Ginny, if you have a new web page, email me the URL, OK? SHIT! I forgot to put an Internet in Heaven! OK, now there's one. Its free, too, with UNLIMITED bandwidth. And free Macs, for everyone, with all the trimmin's. So, please try to answer, because I'd really like to see you again, up there. Bye, Ginny. For now.
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