August 31: "Writing in the Afterlife," Eternal Punishment, Fluffing Clouds

I grew up with a Catholic concept of the afterlife:  Heaven, Hell, Limbo, Purgatory.  If you've read Dante's The Divine Comedy, you know what I'm talking about.  Of course, other world religions and mythologies have versions of the afterlife, as well.  Most of them involve places of eternal punishment and eternal reward.  

Billy Collins has his own poetic version of what comes after breath and heartbeat . . . 

Writing in the Afterlife

by: Billy Collins

I imagined the atmosphere would be clear,
shot with pristine light,
not this sulfurous haze,
the air ionized as before a thunderstorm.

Many have pictured a river here,
but no one mentioned all the boats,
their benches crowded with naked passengers,
each bent over a writing tablet.

I knew I would not always be a child
with a model train and a model tunnel,
and I knew I would not live forever,
jumping all day through the hoop of myself.

I had heard about the journey to the other side
and the clink of the final coin
in the leather purse of the man holding the oar,
but how could anyone have guessed

that as soon as we arrived
we would be asked to describe this place
and to include as much detail as possible—
not just the water, he insists,

rather the oily, fathomless, rat-happy water,
not simply the shackles, but the rusty,
iron, ankle-shredding shackles—
and that our next assignment would be

to jot down, off the tops of our heads,
our thoughts and feelings about being dead,
not really an assignment,
the man rotating the oar keeps telling us—

think of it more as an exercise, he groans,
think of writing as a process,
a never-ending, infernal process,
and now the boats have become jammed together,

bow against stern, stern locked to bow,
and not a thing is moving, only our diligent pens.

I wouldn't mind if the afterlife was a lot like today.  Sleeping in.  Leisurely breakfast of leftover prime rib on toast.  A walk with my wife and dog.  Cleaning the house (I'm not against a little work in Heaven--polishing stars, fluffing clouds, etc.).  Playing the pipe organ for Mass (no harps or lyres for me, please).  An evening of dinner and a movie with some best friends.  It was kind of perfect.

But I know that perfection for me is not perfection for everyone.  For example, Billy Collins' vision of the afterlife seems far from perfect--ankle-shredding shackles, an eternal sulfurous river of boats, rat-happy water, and a logjam of naked, suffering souls.  The one part of Collins' life-after-death that I wouldn't mind:  the writing.  The poem makes it into a kind of purgatory, scribbling away for eternity.  To others, that may sound like Hell (or at least Purgatory).  To me, it sounds like paradise.

Often, when priests or pastors begin their sermons during worship services, I take out my journal and pen.  For the next 15 or so minutes, I scribble away on a blog post or new poem or essay.  I've always thought of writing as a form of prayer.  Some of the shit that comes out on the page seems divinely inspired.  In fact, I believe that the best poems I write are all gifts from my Higher Power, however you want to define it.  

So, after I die, if I'm trapped naked in a boat with my journal and writing utensil (hopefully a fountain pen), that will be a really, really great afterlife.

In the meantime, Saint Marty will just keep writing poetry here on Earth.  Call it practice.  Hopefully, the River Styx has a few nice waterfalls to describe.

September 23: God is Listening, Purgatory, Human Failings

"Did that really happen?" said Maggie White.  She was a dull person, but a sensational invitation to make babies.  Men looked at her and wanted to fill her up with babies right away.  She hadn't had even one baby yet.  She used birth control.

"Of course it happened," Trout told her.  "If I wrote something that hadn't really happened, and I tried to sell it, I could go to jail.  That's fraud."

Maggie believed him.  "I'd never thought about that before."

"Think about it now."

"It's like advertising.  You have to tell the truth in advertising, or you get in trouble."

"Exactly.  The same body of law applies."

"Do you think you might put us in a book sometime?"

"I put everything that happens to me in books."

"I guess I better be careful what I say."

"That's right.  And I'm not the only one who's listening.  God is listening, too.  And on Judgment Day he's going to tell you all the things you said and did.  If it turns out they're bad things instead of good things, that's too bad for you, because you'll burn forever and ever.  The burning never stops hurting."

Poor Maggie turned gray.  She believed that, too, and was petrified.

Kilgore Trout laughed uproariously.  A salmon egg flew out of his mouth and landed in Maggie's cleavage.

I don't think Kilgore Trout believes in Judgment Day or God or eternal fire.  He's simply messing with innocent Maggie.  Telling her things to elicit responses that amuse him.  Or maybe he does hold that concept of God, the Almighty Judge and Jury.  No matter.  His laughter is genuine and more than a little cruel, regardless of his personal theology.

I was sort of raised with this depiction of God.  I remember, when I was a kid, reading a really thick book about Purgatory.  It had a black cover, with white lettering.  Hundreds and hundreds of pages about punishment and purification and souls.  It was more terrifying than Stephen King or William Peter Blatty or Bram Stoker.  It gave me nightmares of lakes of fire.  Molten lead being poured into my mouth for lies that I'd told or repeated.  Hot pokers being shoved into my eyes for looking at pictures in magazines my brothers kept under their mattresses.

When I attend Mass now, I don't hear a whole lot of talk about Purgatory.  It's still a part of the Catholic belief system.  However, it's not a huge selling point for the Church.  Not that the Catholic Church is a commodity to be advertised and marketed.  But, torture does not give people the warm fuzzies.

I know what you're wondering:  Does Saint Marty believe in Purgatory?  My answer to that question is complicated.  I believe in redemption.  I believe that everyone can be saved.  I believe in God's love more than God's anger.  Being a parent, I know that my kids can drive me crazy sometimes, but I still love them.  So I'm sure the God gets a little insane about the stuff His kids do, as well.  That doesn't mean He sends hurricanes and tsunamis to punish us.  I don't think God is like that.

God wants me to be the best me I can be, because I'm a reflection of His love.  That's the thing that people tend to forget.  God wants each and every one of us to make the world a better place.  If we don't do that, God isn't angry.  He's sad.  Disappointed.  But He understands that we are human, with human failings.  And He understands and loves those failings, as well

Saint Marty is thankful today for love.

June 2: Darning Needle, Chronic Masturbators, Punishments

It is this peculiar stitching motion of the dragonfly's abdomen that earned it the name "darning needle"--parents used to threaten their children by saying that, if the children told lies, dragonflies would hover over their faces as they slept and sew their lips together.  Interestingly, I read that only the great speed at which the egg-laying female dragonfly flies over the water prevents her from being "caught by the surface tension and pulled down."  And at that same great speed the dragonfly I saw that day whirred away, downstream:  a drone, a dot, and then gone.

A terrifying little story to tell kids.  An insect hovering over a naughty child's mouth, stitching lips together as punishment for a white lie, fib, whopper, tattle, deception, fabrication.  That's almost as good as the story I read as a child in a book about Purgatory.  In that book, sinners guilty of telling a lie were forced to swallow mouthfuls of molten lead as penance.  Combining the two punishments (taking in a mouthful of liquid lead and then having your lips stitched closed) would probably have kept me awake for weeks as a kid.  (By the way, you don't really want to know what they do to chronic masturbators in Purgatory, but it was enough to keep me away from the Penthouse under my brother's mattress for a couple months.)

Punishment is a strange thing.  I have learned, in my years as a father, to choose my punishments wisely.  Grounding, for example, is a terrible form of punishment.  It forces parents to spend entire nights/weeks with surly adolescents/teenagers.  The punishers become the punished.  Frankly, I think I'd take molten lead over spending extended periods of time with my sullky, fifteen-year-old daughter.

My wife and I have been having a battle with our daughter these past couple weeks.  This summer, my daughter has been invited to spend the month of July in the state of Washington with my sister, her husband, and kids.  My sister made the invitation without first consulting with my wife or myself first.  For various reasons that I will not discuss here, we have told our daughter that she is not going to Washington this summer.  Of course, she accepted our decision with grace and maturity.  She said, "I understand, father and mother, and I bow to your collective parental wisdom."  NOT.

According to my daughter, we are "ruining her life," and she "is going to be absolutely miserable all summer."  These pronouncements have been accompanied by tears and shouting.  I believe a few doors were slammed, as well.  (Where's a dragonfly when I need one?)  Tonight, she has lapsed into quiet recalcitrance.

Certainly, my daughter is determined to make herself miserable this summer.  And, because we share a house with her and are the cause of her misery, my wife and I will, by association, be miserable as well.  That's our punishment for being responsible parents.

Saint Marty is planning on sleeping with one eye open tonight.

October 30: At This Time, Rolling Year, All Souls' Day

"At this time of the rolling year," the spectre said, "I suffer most.  Why did I walk through crowds of fellow beings with eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode!  Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me?"

I know I have used this passage before, but on this first episode of "Saint of the Week," it is particularly apt to touch upon Marley's penance as a ghost.  Marley wanders the world, seeing all the suffering and anguish he could have helped alleviate while he was living.  It is a terrible eternal punishment, to be in a constant state of regret and mourning.

On November 2, the Catholic Church celebrates All Souls' Day.  On this day, people on this planet can offer prayers and alms for those who have died who are "being purified in the sufferings of purgatory."  By offering these sacrifices, we can help the Marleys of the afterlife pass through the pearly gates and enter heaven.  Now, whether you believe in Purgatory and punishment or not, most Christian churches at this time celebrate those who have died in the past year.  In Mexico, it's a national holiday.  Dia de los Muertos.  That's the day where everybody dresses like skeletons and makes sugar skulls and goes to visit grandma and grandpa at the cemetery, usually bringing them food and drinks.  It's sort of like Halloween, except the trick-or-treaters are dead.

No matter what tradition you celebrate, the end of October and the first days of November are reserved for remembrance, for reflection on those you have lost.  It can be a solemn time, or it can be a time of celebration.  It depends on the culture and traditions.

So, whether you're eating Milky Ways or sugar skulls, or lighting votive candles, I wish you a peaceful All Souls' Day.

Saint Marty will end with a traditional Catholic prayer for this time:  Eternal rest grant to them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them.  May they rest in peace.  Amen, Marley, amen.

Happy Halloween, Good All Souls' Day, Merry Dios de los Muertos

February 4: Speaking Comfort, Weary Journeys, New Cartoon

"Jacob," he said, imploringly.  "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more.  Speak comfort to me, Jacob."

"I have none to give," the Ghost replied.  "It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men.  Nor can I tell you what I would.  A very little more, is all permitted to me.  I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere.  My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house--mark me!--in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!"

Marley paints a pretty dreary picture of the afterlife in this passage.  Endless wandering.  Weary journeys.  No comfort.  It's an eternal fate nobody would want.  It certainly shakes Scrooge, considering the fact that Marley intimates Scrooge's punishment will be much worse.

No one likes to think of death or what comes after death.  It's not a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.  When I was young, I once saw my mother reading a book about Purgatory.  If I remember correctly, the book consisted of visions of Purgatory that various Catholic saints and holy people had described.  It was pretty horrific.  Lakes of fire.  Molten lead being poured into mouths.  Dante didn't have anything on these visions.

I guess not too many people like to think of an afterlife that includes any kind of punishment.  It doesn't go along with the idea of a loving and forgiving Supreme Being.  I will admit that I don't care much for the thought of swimming through lava or eating cotton balls (I hate the way they squeak against my teeth!).  However, the images and stories of punishment in the afterlife have persisted throughout history.

Maybe the reason for Purgatory and Hell, eternal punishment, is to frighten human beings into being better people.  It seems to work for Scrooge.  Whether you subscribe to these beliefs or not,  you have to admit that the situation Jacob Marley's ghost describes is pretty terrifying.  It's enough to scare the shit out of me.  I know I'm not sticking to the narrow limits of my money-changing hole, or any of my holes, for that matter.  Chains and weary journeys are not for me.

Saint Marty's not speaking of comfort today.  He's speaking of avoiding lava and chains and cotton balls.

Confessions of Saint Marty