I AM Here."
I don't want to talk
to the Mean Hebrew GOD!
I wanna talk to JESUS!
Is He UP THERE?"
"I AM Right Here,
"Are You SURE.......
You're the right ONE?"
I AM He."
"Where's the MEAN GOD,
"What did you wish to know,
"What's He doin' on MARS?"
Beckon to an angel alighting upon
the Doorstep of The Throne Room.
"What did you wish to know,
Is JESUS still really...... JEWISH?
I mean, how does that WORK?"
The angel, a rather tough-looking brute
wearing the ancient Roman garb of a
short belted skirted-garment, metallic-looking chest armor, huge strapped sandals, big helmet, and a long pocketed sword, approaches the Throne and kneels down; he doesn't use one of the many big Kneeling Cushions lying here and there, among the Gold Tiled Floor. His big sword
makes a clanging sound on the Tiles. He lies, face down, until The Lord beckons him to speak.
The angel, whose name is Brutus-Belivarius,
asks, in a rather hesitant, timid voice,
if he can fly down to Earth in the place of
another angel, who doesn't want to be sent
to Earth today.
The Lord, with a very stern frown,
asks Brutus-Belivarius what is the
reason for such a ridiculous request,
and why that other angel hasn't approached
The Throne-Room, himself.
Brutus-Belivarius pauses for a moment;
he reaches over for a couple of big
Kneeling Cushions and clumsily sticks them both under his huge knees. The he stares off in space for moment before answering:
biting on a big, huge fingernail.
The Lord commands, in a sternly loud
Voice, for Brutus-Belivarius to stop
biting on his fingernails and be an angel
for goodness-sake, and spit it out.
Brutus-Belivarius, thinking The Lord
meant for him to spit out the bitten-off
fingernail, pauses for a minute to spit
it out onto one of the bunched-up
Kneeling Cushions. Then he proceeds
to explain, in hesitantly halting, badly
grammatical Hebrew***, that his friend,
the other angel, wanted to sit and watch
cartoons all day and eat from his bowl
of vanilla ice cream and chocolate-mint
syrup. So the angel asked Brutus if
he could go down to Earth instead, to
fetch the Prayer Baskets, that were strewn
about the Middle-Southern-Quadrant
of the Western Nation to The West****.
The Lord sighs. He commands, rather sternly, for Brutus to go on and speak in his regular, vernacular, Angel-Speak tongue.
Brutus, with a big sigh, somewhat relaxes
his big bare knees upon the velvety purple
and red pillows, and proceeds to explain
in his regular regional-tongue, sounding
a lot like Sylvestor Stallone in the movie
"Rocky", the plight of his angel friend
(the one who's back on his dorm cloud,
watching Casper cartoons, and munching on
potatoes chips dipped in the vanilla ice cream
and chocolate syrup).
The problem is the his friend is scared of Earth and
really doesn't like going there. So the
angel had asked Brutus, in a particularly
whiny voice, if he could go down to Earth
instead to pick up the Prayer Baskets. The
particular Middle-Southern Quadrant of
the Land to the West,
that has been assigned to this particular angel, was quite
hot and humid this time of year, and whose
air was laden with all sorts of nats, biting
mosquitos, and nasty hornets. The last time
the angel had gone down there, to fly about
and pick up the Prayer Baskets, he had
come back with all sorts of mosquito-bites,
and even a bad case of heat-rash. Unfortunately,
he had also run into a clump of poison ivy,
when he had dropped the Basket while batting
at a miserable mosquito, and had to fly into
a patch of innocent-looking bushes, to retrieve it.
The angel, whose small plump face was dotted
with pink Calamine lotion blots and dried-drips, complained that he was still sratching uncomfortably, over and underneath, his long gauzy-beige gown, from his last trip and just couldn't bear going down there, to Earth, again so soon, and if Brutus could make the trip today.
The Lord is silent for a long minute.
Then He shouts at Brutus-Belivarius:
pointing a stern finger at the big, Roman
Brutus, still kneeling upon the velvet red
and purple pillows, begins to nod continually:
biting on his big thumb fingernail, again.
He stares down at the Golden Tiles saying
over, and over again: 'Yes, my Lord. Yes,
my Lord. Yes, my Lord. Yes, my Lord.
I will tell him, my Lord. Right now, my
Lord. Do You wish to SEE him, my Lord?
Oh........Okay. I'll tell him to get right down there to Earth, my Lord. Yes, my Lord. That You're counting to THREE...my Lord."
More Shouting and Pointing ensues for
another long moment.
Brutus-Belivarius is silent but still biting
on the same thumb-nail. Then he mumbles
quite hesitantly, and whisperedly; "Yes,
my Lord. Anything.....else, my Lord?"
One more Shout.
One more Point.
"Oh. Okay, my Lord. I'll go with him,
my Lord. Just to make sure he stays outta
trouble; yes, my Lord. I will spray both
of us with that Off-spray, my Lord. Before
we fly down there. Yes, my Lord. Can I
GO now, my Lord? Thank You, my Lord."
Brutus-Belivarius gets up slowly and hesitantly from his Kneeling Pillows, and begins backing away from The Thrones
of The Elohim: clanging and banging clumsily in his bewinged armor. He bumps his big head against the Gold and Amethyst
Huge Throne Room Door, rubs his big helmet for a moment, and then hurries out backwards: bumping and clanging into one
of the Hall Bema-Benches, as he takes
flight back to the dorm clouds.
Is He still JEWISH......,or WHAT?"
How is it
**Yiddish: affectionate; 'child'.
***The Official Throne Room language:
the only angel who can make the tedious,
rough-sounding, language sound perfectly
lovely, romantically melodious,
and sensual is the Archangel Michael.
****Southeast Texas, USA.
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