God Is Moira Rose

Sometimes, on sleepless nights, it just feels like the cosmos is a soap opera, God is a maniacal method actor, and each and every one of us sorry bastards is a juicy role on Primetime (even and perhaps especially the bit parts).

No matter what happens, the cosmos is experiencing it all – and it rolls on, unaffected, through even the most insane and tumultuous events it puts itself (ourselves) through, gaining compassion and wisdom along the way (and, hell, maybe a couple daytime Emmy Awards). No birth, no death (not really) — we tremble and wince through scary videogames and movies, but even when our favorite characters “die,” we shake ourselves and move on, having relished the thrill of each little “life.”

In those strange, blessed moments, the absurdity and the pain take on a more comforting hue, a good deal less fear, and even some good-natured annoyance (instead of rage). Kind of like realizing that instead of a Stephen King novel, we’re powering through an especially poorly written episode of Days of Our Lives — no — Sunrise Bay. Irritating, silly, full of Deus ex Machina, improbable leaps, and colossal plot holes… But manageable.

I’m not saying any of this makes sense, but then, most of the best stuff in my life hasn’t made sense. Sure, smarter people use elevated language about Brahman and the Tao and suchlike, but the hell with it. Keep your Sturm und Drang, keep your Manichaean dichotomies. It’s a Soap, a motherfucking telenovela. We are God living many lives, “the universe become self-aware.”

And God is Moira Rose.

Image Editorial credit: © Bob Hilscher / Shutterstock.com

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