All these years wondering who God was and if she…..or he exists and I have to die to meet my creator only to find out it’s a nerdish looking scientist who calls himself Al. What are the chances? Feeling a bit brazen now that I’m dead I asked Al The Creator if this was some weird drug and alcohol fueled dream hallucination and the fucker just smiled at me with an all too familiar condescending sneer.
Al scoffed at me. “A dream you ask? Did you ever stop to even wonder what dreams are JT? For that matter why you dream?” The smug smile on his face took on a devious leer. I began to wonder if he was God and Satan wrapped in one neat little package of divinity. “Your brain takes in all the crazy shit you’ve processed throughout the day, mixes it up with whatever it wants from your past, puts them in a theatrical blender and pours the results into your head making you wonder if its real or some weird movie. Your computerized brain messes with you by presenting the entire series of events in an abstract manner making it as disjointed and confusing as possible. Tell me son, how do your dreams start?” I pondered this and for the life of me I couldn’t remember how my dreams begin or end, it‘s all just like a mottled up middle without a sane plot. Before I could answer Al continued, “All day long your brain is very busy collecting information from your nose, ears, eyes, and skin. It has to filter out what’s unimportant, put what is important into memory, and still be ready to make split second decisions on even mundane things you do daily. Simple things like washing your hands. While your washing thousands of events are happening right where you are standing. Things you don’t see, hear, or smell, or rather don’t notice because your brain views them as insignificant so it doesn’t process them. Maybe it’s a tiny hair strand floating by in and endless feather drop. Knowing its there is of no use to you at the moment so your brain collects the images and sounds, places it in mental file cabinets for later use, and concentrates on more important things like reminding you to rug your hands together with soapy water. Sounds, smells, and sights are in full force around you all the time, so your brain puts you on auto pilot, while it continues to search the world around you. It’s a very busy job and it juggles millions of bits of information. The brain loves to work and thrives in busy situations making decisions every split second. Then at night you turn out the lights and go to sleep leaving your brain with little to do, not much in the way of senses to process. Now its almost like your brain is bored while you sleep so it makes up frightening images some so scary you may wake up in a sweat. If your brain has been overworked it will make it seem so real you wake up wondering did that happen or was I dreaming? Other times it will cause you total confusion by showing you something so ridiculous you’ll wanna pinch yourself when you wake. Most of the time you just wake up so confused all you can think when you wake is what the fuck that was all about. You forget the events before you ever reach the bathroom to pee.
You remember your sexual dreams as an adolescent? Okay, I won’t go there and embarrass you, just know your brain really enjoyed fucking with you back then and got your body to respond in any number of ways. As if puberty wasn’t hard enough! Pun intended by the way JT.” Again a devious smile. “You live in an age of over-information son. I’m here to help you sort through all the bullshit so you can move on and understand your role in the universe. In my universe.”
Maybe I was over-reacting, or tired and out of sorts but for some reason the last part stung a little bit. His universe? I still wasn‘t completely convinced I wasn‘t dreaming this scenarion up as a result of the cholesterol alcohol and drugs overload. “Your universe? So you’re back to that huh? So what, you’re….you‘re who then? God, Yahweh, Allah, Jehovah, Lord of Lords, The light? The omnipresent creator of everything? You, a nerdy little scientist with messy hair, a lab coat, and clipboard! You just look so insignificant, no offense, but I really expected the creator to be a bit more, oh I don’t know, regal and grandeur, maybe some big smoke monster or something.” The diminutive scientist/mathematician smiled. “I’m sorry to disappoint you JT, but as I told you before I am merely a manifestation, an image you have created in your own mind to fit the role of one with enough knowledge and ability to create life. Universes are created by scientists, not gods. So I appear to you as you envision a scientist. This clipboard is a prop. Have you seen me use it for anything? What do I need a clipboard for. It’s even you talking except when the info is over your head. So blame yourself if you’re disappointed, I’m not here to make you feel good about yourself, I’m here to tell you what you don’t know about yourself. If you don’t want to hear let me know and we’ll call it quits and you can just move on.”
Again the term “move on” hung out in suspended animation with a sinister undertone. But this time I was being scolded at the same time. I tossed the term around my bruised mind, “just move on.” Mover on to what, to where? Maybe it was best to allow calmer heads to prevail and hear him out.