Angels and Demons Play Red Rover

They're all arrayed for the greatest battle ever in cosmic history, the battle over my precious soul and the world. Oh yeah, nothing small. Sometimes I think I'm nothing. Then I realize, Dad mabbit, I'm as good as they get. Except for the bad teeth.

On one side, wearing gold trimmed wings and hoisting flaming swords, are the illustrious angelic forces. The opposing side has the demons, also illustrious in their own way, bringing the fragrance of cinder to the proceedings. I'm in the chariot with the one true deity Krishna, watching to see if Red Rover will break the line.

Because this is something like the Ultimate Contest -- so important that the Magic Butler's ascent to Heaven is frozen in place till it's decided -- each side is especially rapt. Red Rover has the life of the spirit racing through his spine, from his Eilo bottom to his Meniggesstroeth top.

Lately, of course, I have been friends with the demons. Demons 1. Demons 2. Hence, the battle, as the angels are very much against that sort of thing. Yet how often the angels have helped me! Hedgerow 1. Hedgerow 2. But who knows whether a similar alliance with demons wouldn't have kept me more well-rounded? Whatever, they both appear jealous, so it's one or the other, with my proxy in the fight, Red Rover, running the line. I believe the score is something like 50-50 out a best-of-100, with the deciding run ... NEXT!

The big difference in the last run is that Krishna has told me that many in the struggle will perish. So if I'm rooting for either side, it should be the angels, since those are the spirit of my body parts they represent. But the demons are old friends and acquaintances. So I'm torn.

Are angels better than demons? That's the question. For all their so-called goodness and assistance, it sure seems like angels are quick with resentment and a superior attitude. Whereas demons, always kicked down, seem to be thankful for every dry morsel you throw them. On the other hand, Abraham Lincoln thought the angels of our nature were worth lifting up. But he's the same guy who killed vampires at night. Which hardly sounds like a fair fight, right when they're sleeping. So Lincoln sucks.

People who like angels are supposedly the strong. Strong? Think again. Every little old lady I've ever known, who couldn't get her walker out of the quicksand-thicket of short carpet had angels on her curtains and TV. What kind of strength is that? And people who like demons are supposedly the weak. Weak? Don't they break chains in the tombs? If they're so weak, what are we doing chaining them there in the first place? I'd like to be that weak! I'd join the carnival and make money in the freak show.

Angels, for all the good we think they do, have big heads. And insinuate themselves in lots of situations for personal gain and favors. Ever read Guideposts magazine? Those same ladies with their stuck walkers are always having angelic visitations. That has to be an ego trip for angels, as much as having these gals on a leash and giving them a nasty tug every little whip-stitch. "I give you doily, you give me article."

This stuff is constant for these ladies. And every one of them has a framed color 8 x 10 of a precious dog, now dead. I ask, if angels are so good, why didn't they spare their dog? Selfishness. The dog always noticed them there and barked their heads off. But with the pooch out of the way -- prematurely -- the way was clear for them to move in. One last thing: Ever seen even one of these 8 x 10s where the soft-focused dog wasn't strangely cross-eyed? I'll tell you why: Angels ran 'em ragged.

I haven't got time for the many virtues of demons. Except, next time you see a guy under a bridge out like a light, with a stolen bottle, now empty, think of the peace of spirit of that dear soul. He knows he'll wake up -- probably, hopefully not -- and there'll be a nice, kind demon there somewhere, sleeping in the hottest part of the campfire, who'll help him forget today as well. I never heard of a demon killing a beggar's dog. Just the opposite, in fact; in the absence of a campfire, a very warm spot for sleeping is inside, right next to a dog's heart, with its soothing beat.

OK, back to Red Rover. The angels blow in a prolonged chorus their several conch shells. Eilo blows Saddlesore and Wart answers with Toadpee. Cheetah sounds Harlot, Amen on Overbite. Asterechme delivers a sustained blast on Clarity, Tricky comes in on Dicky. And, finally, Chaos deafens everyone in the valley with his terrible sounding of Kontrol, only to be trumped by Meniggesstroeth delivering the greatest blow ever on his conch, the redoubtable Einstein.

I'm suddenly full of fear, fearful of losing either side. I have personal reasons. I need all these lugs in my life. And, if a bunch of them are gone, it'll throw the balance of nature all out of whack. You know what the Eternal World Soul Motor sounds like, of course: Chugga, chugga, chugga, wheeze, chugga, chugga... If it's out of whack, it might be Chugga, chugga, clink, wheeze, spitz, chugga, fizz. No good. Something exactly like that, sounding minor when you read it, could be the destruction of everything.

Krishna, though, called me to silence. Saying, "You are mourning for what is not worthy of grief. Never was there a time when I did not exist, nor you, nor all these others. Nor in the future shall any of us cease to be. No one is able to destroy that imperishable soul. Therefore, get up with determination ... and let Red Rover run!"

With that, I'd learned my lesson. I basically live by two undying principles: 1) Don't pull a gun unless you're prepared to use it; and, 2) See No. 1. So I waved my flag and Red Rover was off! It was one of those slow-motion sequences, where we see Red Rover with a slow-motion head of steam. The demons are in slow-motion, too, jumping in sequence like pistons.

On the angels' side, in slow-motion, they have that look of, "I pity the po' fool who even thinks about it!" Red Rover looked like he could read Meniggesstroeth's stern mind and had his first taste of fear. I saw Krishna reared back, his mouth open in slow motion; I could see his teeth weren't that great either. Could he be in Amen's corner?

O! Damn! That's it! Guys with bad teeth stick together! I opened my mouth proudly and threw my power in with Krishna's -- Even if it meant self-destruction, we went for it! Red Rover felt our will and veered off his path, turning for the weakest link, the nexus right there between my bad teeth and sensitive testicles, breaking through the angels and winning a stunning victory for the demons!

That's about it. Not much left. The Magic Butler escaped to Heaven, so that's good. The earth opened and consumed me and Krishna. The angels and Red Rover all died. The demons jumped on the rented horses and got away. The world ended. And Red Rover's cross-eyed picture's still on display at the Pleasant Girdle Home for the Female Infirm, located on a chunk of earth flung into outer space.
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Meniggesstroeth, Asterechme, Amen, and Eilo, are the angels of the brain, right eye, teeth, and testicles, respectively, according to "The Secret Book of John," found in The Nag Hammadhi Scriptures, edited by Marvin Meyer. Krishna's quotations are selected from Bhagavad-Gita As It Is, translated by A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada. 

Krishna to the Rescue!

I had a terrible hard day's night last night at a church meeting. This one lady -- generally a real peach -- must've been having a tough time of it. Because she severely offended me. I was running through the list of things that I could do to retaliate: Smart off, walk out, scream, or throw something. But over the years I've mellowed, now knowing that to do any (or all) of these things is not wise; whereas I might feel great in the heat of the battle, it's tough to go back next time.

To me, that's one of the greatest lessons to learn. Life isn't a movie with a neat ending. In real life, there's always tomorrow, with your reputation on the line. And unless you're prepared to disappear to another city, state, or country, you're going to run into people at the grocery store, post office, or health club. "Hi, how ya doin', heh heh."

OK, I came home and did all the things you do in a situation like this. It preoccupied me. I thought of the Seinfeld episode where George thinks of what he should have said in an argument with a guy at work ("jerk store.") But I didn't just come up with one comeback but 40 or 50, none of which I could say in real life. As above, the problem is showing up next time.

Then it hit me, one of the oldest damned truths there is: If you're steaming mad, the only one you're hurting is yourself. So I did what I needed to do, reached for one of my many spiritual books, in this case the Bhagavad Gita. (A guy I used to know in Sunday School as kids, later when we were in college, "turned me on to" the Gita, as he called it, with Bhagavad apparently being something of an optional word.)

Really, Krishna is definitely one of the most understanding representations of God around. Am I right? He always seems to make just the right connection you need, whatever it is, since -- and most people don't know this -- he stands for your soul; there's no actual division. Hope I'm right about that. I probably am.

So thinking of this donnybrook last night, it was KRISHNA TO THE RESCUE! with this great verse:

One who works in devotion, who is a pure soul, and who controls his mind and senses, is dear to everyone, and everyone is dear to him. Though always working, such a man is never entangled. 5:7

That put it in immediate context for me. I'm dear to the lady, she's dear to me. It's just a matter of controlling our mind and senses.

There's been lots of times I've gotten help like that. Just to mention a few -- not to brag, but maybe they'll be useful to you, too, in similar circumstances. How many times have I been denied some transient pleasure? I'm not usually, but it's been known to happen. Once I was mowing the half acre -- with the old push mower, no motor, 100 degrees -- and I was daydreaming about the last piece of DQ birthday ice cream cake. I kept going. But my Cousin Roto was in the house taking a nap. I got done, and of course the cake was gone! KRISHNA TO THE RESCUE!

The thoughts of my pure devotees dwell in me, their lives are surrendered to me, and they derive great satisfaction and bliss enlightening one another and conversing about me. 10:9

Roto and I conversed about the cake and the Gita. He's kind of dumb, but I eventually convinced him we were deriving great satisfaction and sharing bliss. And because of the cake, that he'd shared more than I.

Another big problem I tend to have has to do with getting old. Sometimes I envy the animals; they either don't know they're going to die or they simply don't care. I had this dog "Fritz" (Link 1; Link 2) years ago who knew he was going to die; he dragged himself under the stairs, like he wanted to die where I wouldn't find him so I wouldn't be sad. Of course I found him right away and cried like a baby. KRISHNA TO THE RESCUE!

For the soul there is never birth nor death nor, having once been, does he ever cease to be. He is unborn, eternal, ever-existing, undying and primeval. He is not slain when the body is slain. 2:20

There's a million problems in the naked city. These are only a few. But for every problem you or I may have, don't forget, Krishna's always there for you in the Bhagavad Gita, ready to RESCUE you.

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Excerpts from Bhagavad-Gita As It Is by His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, copyright 1972 by Bhaktivedanta Book Trust.