Sunday June 3rd 2018Tim
debate about the origin of the word Yahweh. Some will
tell you it was place lost to the sands of time, others
will tell you it translates from an ancient Canaanite
language into Popeye's "I am what I am," still others
will come up with all sorts of mystical offerings and
entirely possible because it has something to do with
Religion and Politics and Academia there's no real
incentive for an objective answer. My own view follows
an account which naturally enough I can no longer find
in any real sense, yet variations of which remain a
constant for those moments in the vegetable Garden when
there's just a little bit more to do and the body begins
to express a sudden yearning for The Rapture and failing
that a good long cigarette break in deep, Tic-less
shade. The other point I'd like to make is that there's
no way Bruce Springsteen singing "Santa Claus is Coming"
figures in any reputable account of the origin of
Yahweh, so best to keep that in mind.
Many years ago, in
a part of the world where rain was uncertain and land
subject to plagues of Centipedes, a gardener exhausted
from the endless monotony of separating the Tares from
the Wheat thought he heard a voice and he looked up unto
the heavens. And lo it was what sounded like a Late
Bronze Age Bruce Springsteen singing, "You'd better not
cry, you'd better not pout, and I'm telling you why, so
be good for goodness sake." The gardener, having
followed the calling of gardeners, was a dour, fusty old
grump and he replied, "The odd Tare never hurt anybody!
It's all roughage!" And with a degree of unction
the voice answered, "Well you'd better watch out because
sooner or later I'm coming to town." A terrible quarrel
ensued during which Blossom End Rot was mentioned
several times, and finally the gardener put his good
hand on his bad hip and demanded, "Who exactly do you
think you are?" "I am the Creator. I have no name.
I can't help it, I am what I am."