Me and Mr. Jones

Brick, from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, described the level of peace he found after a certain number of drinks as a click that happened in his head. I hadn’t been drinking when it happened to me the other day. While dodging snowflakes on my drive home I suddenly found myself calm and collected. Tonight I still find myself at peace. Despite the beginning of the new month, or perhaps because of it.

Tony is trying to convince me it is all because of our new religion, the Pleiades. “Religion,” he explains, “very often gives one a feeling of peace that stems from knowing that your soul is no longer your own.” It is true that I have immersed myself in our new religious cult, but I have not had any of the revelations I remember from my childhood. What revelations? Well, let me tell you…

First time came at Bible camp, a week long sleep-a-way camp where I was supposed to get saved. Mostly I developed a crush on my cabin-mate and worried about wetting the bed, but at the end of the week I did indeed walk down the aisle to accept Jesus into my heart. I made myself cry and walked around all dizzy-like to try and get some attention from folks. I got a few hugs from my cabin mates (which of course got me all excited) and proud looks from my parents. And I even made myself pray constantly over the next few days as I returned home. The problem came, though, when my prayers basically turned into mini dialogues about internal cursing and wondering if God cared if I thought certain words as long as I didn’t say them aloud. This lead me to just think the words over and over again and pretty soon my prayers diminished and my appetite for bad words increased. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work at all.

The second time I made the trip down the aisle I was at the end of my church’s Revival week where guest preachers come to explain how bad hell is and how we should all be saved. I was bored so figured I might as well get some attention and went and knelt down and met the guy’s challenge. The following month I was baptized and my only real memory of that is of my preacher’s naked body as he changed in the room next to me. Go figure.

But getting back to my current peace: I realize that it has a lot more to do with my lessoning anxiety of the future. I have arrived at a place where I feel some control over my actions and plans and for once seem to really be following through on my goals. For some reason this makes my days stretch out a bit and time seem less like my enemy.

Tony insists on running this new religion as if it were a political campaign. Because I am his devoted follower and daydream believer I have no choice but to oblige. So here is our new press release about The Pleiades:

Metaphor is an ancient tradition and one the almighty cherishes. That, of course, refers to me. I promise, if annointed, to ensure that all children in this great nation are driven by metaphors in both the good times and the bad. So help me Tony.

So here is his metaphor for the day… Although I often find sweet tastes to be unpleasant, it seems that if I mix them in with the extremely bitter I can at least appreciate their relevance. Coffee that is too strong requires lots of sugar. My typical depressed mind appreciates a hug and kiss now and again.

(Heretics’ note: that’s not really a metaphor)

Today is The Pleiades’ “High Holy Day” and the most revered day of my new belief system. It is the day scholars tell me my religion was actually founded. And the day of the “miraculous happening”. Tony refused to disclose the actual nature of this happening, but I am supposed to believe in it and relish it for eternity. I’m not sure if it is merely coincidental that today is also the first full day after Tony hatched this little scheme of his, or if this block of 24 hours actually does mean a little bit more than the others.

I shall hearby now always observe this holy day on the Monday following the Sunday night broadcast of the Grammy awards. Just like I currently remember Superbowl Sunday as the day my house burned down. That night also happened to be when Janet Jackson’s boob was momentarily exposed on television. And tonight, this most special night, it so happens that TV on the Radio are performing on the Colbert Report. These are a few of my two favorite pop-cultural things at the moment. So all of this surely isn’t coincidence.

Tony has named himself Founder, CEO, and messianic Prophet of a new religion he has called: The Pleiades. He stole the idea right out of a book. Or, I suppose I should say, THE book. A collection of short stories called No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July. Here is what he found on page 186:

When Lyon was ten, she entered a spiritual phase. None of us three was religious, so she drew from a wide array of sources. She called it the Pleiades, an ever-evolving combination of mythology, Anne Frank, and gleaning from friend Claire, who went to Sunday school and wore a crucifix. She could add and subtract rituals as they were needed….”

And that was all the ammunition he needed. Someone else’s perfect concept coupled with infinite flexibility and he had himself a dogma and I my new path. I must learn the rituals, belief systems, and tithing percentages before he shows up again or else I may very well be damned. Go figure.

“In the town where I was born, lived a man who sailed to sea, and he told us of his life…” Stop it, Tony! Those are someone else’s words you are ripping off. Everybody knows them. “Ripping off? Would you use that kind of language if I was your mother?!” Hmmm… Welcome back, Tony.

My memory is faulty about some of my most intimate details. The ritualized reunion of meeting my face in the mirror each morning is a constant reminder of how little I know about the scars on my forehead, the growing discoloration of my teeth, and the constant sparkle in my eyes.

Standing in the shower only continues this awkward scene. What shape does my torso hold this morning? Are my legs really that skinny? What does he think of me?

And then in the evening I go to yoga class where I am forced to sit and feel my body: it’s tightness and tingling and my mind’s own frenetic pace. This self! Is it really the extent of me?

I am not attempting to describe a lack of confidence, but rather a modern life that is somehow alienated from its physical essence.

This reminds me of a Sunday morning from my youth. I was attending the weekly Baptist service with my family and trying to pay attention to the sermon. Suddenly the head-rush feeling overtook me and I began to feel unattached to myself. As I listened and looked at the globs of color and texture floating around me I was fully convinced that this reality was my own contrivance. The preacher spoke of forgiveness while I contemplated colors and erections; the slowing of seconds and my growing thirst. I, and my body, were the creators of the world!!!

Tonight I feel settled in my skin, but I am sure the morning will find me lost once again.