KNOWLEDGE FROM THE BUTT

Oddly, this post is not about Donald J. Trump.

In fact, it starts out about clouds.

According to Websters Collegiate, the origin of the word cloud is gloutos, the Greek word for buttocks.

(The OED differs, but who cares? The image of getting knowledge from the butt is more evocative. And it will make you wonder: Is this really about Donald Trump after all?)

Probably the best known example of surrealist film making came from Luis Bunuel and Salvador Dali in 1929: Un Chien Andalou (An Andolusian Dog).

Among the more haunting images is the following scene:

A man steps out on his balcony to observe the night sky. He sees a long thin cloud cutting across the face of a full moon. He goes back into his crib, grabs up a straight razor, and slices through his woman's eyeball.

On orders from the Cloud, you see?

You might object to his literal interpretation of Nature, but if you subscribe to the notion of a supernatural universe, where information about how to live is everywhere projected—in clouds, in flights of birds, in the guts of sacrificial animals, in the dregs of a cup of tea—you may have a problem setting boundaries.

After all, knowledge is knowledge. It is what it is, so suck it up and get busy carrying out your orders. No doubt some pretty ugly events are in the offing, but how is that your concern?

The Universe has spoken.

Remember the magical words all humans live by: We know what we know and we can't be wrong (as far as we know).

If everybody believes in the signs, nobody has any grounds for complaint.

Same thing if you believe in God. When God speaks, you get to work.

(I'm reminded of a scene in A Tale of Two Cities. As the revolution revs up, zealous folk rush into a courtyard beneath the window of the narrator. What are they up to? Ah, yes: There's a grinding wheel set up there, and sweaty rebels are getting in line to sharpen their knives and swords. Topped off with fresh killing edges, these worthies hurry back to their sacred work.)

If you're a believer in God—and specifically in a God who has the ability to instruct the willing masses—you may find yourself disarmed when it comes to saying what your fellow believers can and cannot do with those instructions.

Because the floodgates are open, the lid to Pandora's Box flung wide.

For you, no doubt, the message from God is to love one another. For others the message is to strap on the bomb vest and go looking for a crowd of likely victims. All Glory to God!

Perplexed by the carnage, you head into the nearest church for solace.

(Careful. Pick the wrong place of worship, you might be caught up in the post-bombing celebration.)

Can the man in the pulpit condemn one message from God and let the rest come through in the clear?

I found a DVD at the laundromat, asking the question: Why Are There So Many Churches? The spokesman, Don Blackwell, has the answer. Humans have repeatedly strayed from the one true church (the one founded on Christ's body). Blackwell's message was precise and strong and obvious to all who have access to a belief in God and a copy of the Bible.

I lack the first requirement, though I have numerous Bibles lying about.

But without the first, the others are just a collection of ancient writings—without the authority of the first—and therefore only a source of astonishment and dark brooding over the fate of untethered man.

I am spared, at least, the need to explain God's bizarre rantings.

(Man's bizarre rantings are easy to explain: Human beings are nutballs.)

But when God sends you out there with nothing but a shoeshine and a bag of Semtex, the survivors are stumped. Are mortal men somehow getting it wrong? If so, does that mean God is not capable of making himself understood by his own creations?

Furthermore, it's annoying to reflect that if God's message varies from one religion to another, the channel you're tuned into is entirely based on an accident of birth. If you'd been born ten thousand miles east or west, you'd be something else right now. Not a Christian, but a Muslim or a Hindu. Or perhaps a pungent amalgam of Chinese Communism and rural superstition.

It can't be helped: Folks believe what surrounds them.

As I say: Of all this, I am spared.

And there's a bonus: I don't have to feel guilt for buoying up a system capable of such righteous destruction. London, Paris, Manchester, etc. Maybe you didn't participate—or cheer from the sidelines—but your belief in God reinforces the beliefs of others. And to some extent, your belief validates their actions.

Not that many people feel this guilt, I suspect.

And why should they? They're not responsible for the hideously dangerous "knowledge" slammed into their keisters by their parents.

Knowledge in, knowledge out.

You know where it comes from—the big fat cloud.

Quick, somebody get a bucket. God is delivering another message.