Let Us Pray

Prophesy or Madness? | July 25th, 2009

The belief in man made global warming seems to be more of a religion than a science as far as I am concerned. I have no social life so I read a lot, and what I have comprehended in this debate is that Man Made Global Warming is just a scam, to have us cower in fear of catastrophe unless we accept radical changes to America.

That said, let’s go about one-hundred years forward, and visit one of the first Midwestern temples of the second largest religious sect in the U.R.A. (the largest being Islam): The First Planetarian Church of The Mother. This low, circular yellow brick building sits on a slight rise, on what had once been an automobile overpass, next to the first of the City’s free-rail lines. Off in the distance, you can make out the 500 slowly spinning blades of the Cedar Winds Organic Power Farm.

There are no visible windows, only a wide, stylishly organic wooden door (make out of recycled grocery bags). To the left of the entrance is the Community Garden, and on the right are the reclamation pits, where the human wastes are processed for fertilizer and mortar. Nothing is wasted, everything of the earth is holy to this church.

You can see the fancily dressed congregation exiting from their canvas-covered bicycles, and some are streaming in from the free-rail. They greet one another with the wholeness gesture [almost like an archaic Christian prayer, except that your palms are spread apart, facing outward. You make a circle with your index fingers and thumbs touching — ED] and wait for the priestess to open the doors. Let’s listen in to the pre-service chatter: “I had that report to finish last night, so my legs are a bit sore…” “But I thought your Power Fast was last week…” “No, didn’t you notice the calm winds last night….” Oh, but talk of the weather has been going on since the dawn of civilization, so we need not listen any further. Besides, the doors are opening. Shouldn’t we go in?

AAAHHHHH! You can smell the sweet aroma of Nature! The nectar of the organic illumination mixed with the smell of the soil, along with the slight bitterness of the reclamation pits. We’re lucky its a nice cool day; if it were hotter, the smell would be more pungent, as the yellow bricks of the church sweat in the heat and humidity.

Before you enter the church, please remove your clothing — and shoes (if you’re wearing any), because you cannot contaminate the sacred ground with anything manufactured. (I’ve been to some of the other mounds in town, the less orthodox ones with a younger, more hip congregation. But since this is one of the founding churches, it is one of the strictest temples with a more mature and political powerful congregations.) We sit cross-legged on the soil of the floor, within the Bosom of The Mother. Look up to the ceiling! The light streaming in from the large, round, Stained Trass window depicts the Glory Of The Mother n all her splendor. It’s really a beautiful work of art: the green and gold continents; the deep blue of the revered Holy Waters; surrounded by the white speckled black trass that represents Father Space — may he be forever empty and void.

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