Our prayers were once pure:
When we part with life on earth, we join our ancestors, childhood
pets, and favorite sports stars on a sunny cloud in the sky.
But now men of science
convince us to trade our blissful prayers for ones of a freezing,
barren, red land prone to ferocious storms.
We once revered donkeys,
sure-footed and steadfast. It was on their backs that our holy men
arrived in cities, receiving kings' welcomes.
Yet we thought travel too
slow. Playing the role of Creator, we invented the automobile, both
for us and the donkey. While our cars became faster, the donkey's
did not.
Now we do not think the
donkey majestic, but slow and troublesome. And our holy men? They
travel in red cars and speak to us from color-changing screens. Is
this truly the life we struggled for?
When we arrived on the
Sixth Day, we saw the world as it was. And so we did until the advent
of the Interweb.
No longer do we use our
eyes to see the glories of the world created for us, but rather we
sit huddled in our unrighteous homes staring at the shape-shifting
kaleidoscope that is the world created by us.
The scientists speak on
high, saying that the images on the wide world web are of that real
world outside our four dingy walls. And as we stare entranced at kittens
overloaded with cuteness and celebrity goddesses inebriated behind
the wheel, we fail to question why these images on the Internet are
devoid of the unseen, miraculous hand of He who had answered our calls.
Our Father giveth; our science taketh away.
Only the power of faith
can heal. Yet in ever larger numbers we take our ailing bodies to
witch doctors armed with knee hammers and popsicle-less sticks. Though
our bodies and souls have become weaker, we've become convinced that
it is these selfsame doctors who should prepare our children for their
lives.
So we corral our loved
ones and ship them off to the feeding lots we call universities. There
they chew the cud of unclean men who spread their deceit from mounts
of garbage more lofty than Sinai.
Each year before harvest,
our children return home. But with their white earbuds, they hear
not; with their red and blue paper glasses, they see not; with their
clear latex, they feel not; and with their silver studs, they taste
not.
Who can we blame but ourselves
that they know not?
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