I asked my friend if he prayed. He said every now and then he does a mental check of his body. Is the sight dimmer than usual? Is there a cramp? Any numb aches? Move a bit and see if all is well-oiled or if some joint cracks? To what end I asked? Just to see. What does that have to do with a higher power? I am the higher power. I reside over a vast domain of cells with my DNA, and a host of helper cells that I inherited from my ancestors through my mother's womb. I bring this holy attention to their little lives, powerless to help, but willing them on supernaturally, floating in the ether of electricity and implicit chemical communication, a unity of one inverted world moving on the edge of a ball. They are clueless where their alms, their mana, originates, how they get flooded in happiness (drugs), sadness (drugs), anger and haste (drugs), fight or flight (drugs) that I conjure into being, supernaturally.

It might be tempting to extrapolate - to the government for example, with its tailored media messaging, symbolic events, trade of essential oil, hate speech, war or implosion from within through age and corruption. But it would be pointless as things never scale well. The world of quantum uncertainty has nothing to do with my route on the bus. The mind wants uniformed pricinciples. It doesn't comprehend boundaries of size. It was designed to deal with a very narrow range of reality, daily life so predictable that praying is at most a tick. There will never be an intervention by the divine into a single life, or a community. I say this, but my eyes are wide open, to be proven right or wrong, one way or another given all these "experiments" on the go, whole communities being wiped under their god's nose and not just now, but as far back as you wish to go. See this passage in the Inanna B translation:

91-108 Drive out the man, capture the man [I guess here the man is the tyrant with power]! In the place of divine encouragement, what is my standing now? May An extradite the land which is a malevolent rebel against your Nanna! May An smash that city! May Enlil curse it! May its plaintive child not be placated by his mother! Lady, with the laments begun, may your ship of lamentation be abandoned in hostile territory. Must I die because of my holy songs? My Nanna has paid no heed to me.

Indeed, then as in now.


jam25