Sunday, October 11, 2020

Waxing philosophical.........................

 Virgil spent some time with God that night, thinking about the way things were—about how somebody like Jud Windrom might now be lying dead somewhere, for no discernible reason—and why they were like that, and why a believer like himself would be going around cursing as he did: goddamnit.

     Virgil held intricate unconventional beliefs, not necessarily Christian, bun not necessarily un-Christian, either, derived from his years of studying nature, and his earlier years, his childhood years, with the Bible.  God, he suspected, might not be a steady-state consciousness, omnipotent, omnipresent, timeless.  God might be like a wave front, moving into an unknowable future; human souls might be like neurons, cells of God's own intelligence. . . . 

      Far out, dude; pass the joint.

     Whatever God was, Virgil seriously doubted that he was worried too much about profanity, sex, or even death.  He left the world alone, people alone, each to work out a separate destiny.  And he stranded people like Virgil, who wondered about the unseen world, but were trapped in their own animal passions, and operated out of moralities that almost certainly weren't God's own, if, indeed, he had one.

     Virgil further worried that he was a guy who simply wanted to eat his cake, and have it, too—his philosophy, as a born-again once pointed out to him, pretty much allowed him to carry on as he wished, like your average godless commie.

     He got to "godless commie" and went to sleep.

     And worried in his sleep.

-John Sandford, Rough Country:  A Virgil Flowers Novel

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