The Return of the MM Temple of Universal Harmony & Tantric Love
The Hit Man and Socrates sat on opposite sides of the conference table eyeing the last old fashioned donut. If it came down to a battle of wills and wits my money would be on the Hit Man who was not above cheating or kicking Socrates in the nads.
Mary Magdalene and I had given up on calling the meeting to order. It had been nearly a year since we left Salem, Oregon and decided to move to Denver. The Mary Magdalene Temple of Universal Harmony and Tantric Love had been closed during that time due to lack of inspiration and energy. Frankly discerning the different voices in my head and what they were trying to tell me had given me a 12 month long blistering headache and I was weary of the whole process.
Then there was the problem of the Sleeping Oracle of Bhutan that had managed to fall into a dreamless slumber from which she seemed content to never wake from and Gary the Angry Easter Bunny had sucked my brain dry of fresh ideas with his Zarkovian Brain Drain Helmet that he had slipped on my head one night after I had fallen into a dark slumber. Later it turned out the sneaky little bastard had drugged my Hawaiian Punch with a high dose of Nytol.
“OOOOOOHHHHHH”
That noise came out of Socrates as he clutched his groin area and collapsed in a fetal position on the floor. Yep, I was right he was felled by a swift kick to his junk and before we could even take in everything that was going on the old fashioned was gone and the Hit Man was licking the sticky glazed frosting from off of his fingers.
“I can’t believe it was his idea to reform the temple,” Mary said shaking her head.
All I could do was nod my head in agreement. My testicles ached reflexively in sympathy for Socrates who looked as if he was going to puke all over the brand new shag carpeting that was laid just last week.
“Dude if you puke on the carpet you are paying to clean it,” said the Hit Man who had done most of the work of installing the carpet with a little help from Boneless Frank who hadn’t even bothered to make it to the meeting.
“Errrgfhhhsntizzlll,” Socrates gurgled.
That the Hit Man had contacted us all last month and suggested that we reopen the temple and restate our mission was hardly believable as I watched him jump and gloat and lick his sticky fingers over his donut victory. But it is what it is and here we all were…minus Boneless Frank, Chicken Little and Brother Ezra who is currently on his annual tent show revival tour of the bible belt. As long as there exist fundamentalist Christians in the world Brother Ezra feels it is his divinely appointed duty to convert them to the one true conscious spirituality or at the very least corrupt the souls of those too stubborn to see the light.
Mary once asked him what he thought Jesus would think of his mission.
“I don’t know,” Br. Ezra replied, “I work for the other guy.
Mary just rolled her eyes in disgust as the feisty little firebrand chuckled in his maniacal way. I shuddered a little. I never know what to believe with Ezra. He once facilitated a séance in which he channeled the late Anton LeVay and that still freaks me out to this day.
Mary M knew better than to continue on with this line of questioning. Br. Ezra would just end up baiting her. Usually he would ask her why she was a befreckled red head given that Mary Magdalene would probably have been Jewish. Mary could choose what ever form she wanted and Ezra knew this. She chose her present form as an affectionate gesture toward me. I have a thing for women with red hair and freckles. I also love big, strong noses on women too…think Melanie Blatt of All Saints….but that is one concession she won’t cater to. She prefers the cute little upturned number she has now. I have to admit it works for her.
Mary is a feminist and it often surprises people that she gives into my preference. But I think these folks misunderstand what a feminist is. Besides she doesn’t always walk around in this present version of her. It really is at her whim.
Socrates started retching.
“I am out of here.” I announced.
Mary nodded in agreement and we left the conference room my back was still aching from my yoga practice the previous night and I needed to lay down flat. I had lost my concentration during a forward bend and didn’t extend my spine properly. Instead I wrenched it making the lower back ach and throb. I could barely walk earlier today.
We also needed to figure out if the Sleeping Oracle would ever be a source of cosmic information again and whether or not the cryptic messages from the Benevolent Space Brethren about the pending final fireworks display signaling the end of our present age were real. Although the Space Brethren had provided useful information in the past it is hard to completely trust a species that has a fondness for anal probes and installing microchips up your nasal cavities. Without the Sleeping Oracle to validate it I felt like we were flying blind.
All I knew for sure is that the days ahead are bound to be weird….as they always are.
Mary Magdalene and I had given up on calling the meeting to order. It had been nearly a year since we left Salem, Oregon and decided to move to Denver. The Mary Magdalene Temple of Universal Harmony and Tantric Love had been closed during that time due to lack of inspiration and energy. Frankly discerning the different voices in my head and what they were trying to tell me had given me a 12 month long blistering headache and I was weary of the whole process.
Then there was the problem of the Sleeping Oracle of Bhutan that had managed to fall into a dreamless slumber from which she seemed content to never wake from and Gary the Angry Easter Bunny had sucked my brain dry of fresh ideas with his Zarkovian Brain Drain Helmet that he had slipped on my head one night after I had fallen into a dark slumber. Later it turned out the sneaky little bastard had drugged my Hawaiian Punch with a high dose of Nytol.
“OOOOOOHHHHHH”
That noise came out of Socrates as he clutched his groin area and collapsed in a fetal position on the floor. Yep, I was right he was felled by a swift kick to his junk and before we could even take in everything that was going on the old fashioned was gone and the Hit Man was licking the sticky glazed frosting from off of his fingers.
“I can’t believe it was his idea to reform the temple,” Mary said shaking her head.
All I could do was nod my head in agreement. My testicles ached reflexively in sympathy for Socrates who looked as if he was going to puke all over the brand new shag carpeting that was laid just last week.
“Dude if you puke on the carpet you are paying to clean it,” said the Hit Man who had done most of the work of installing the carpet with a little help from Boneless Frank who hadn’t even bothered to make it to the meeting.
“Errrgfhhhsntizzlll,” Socrates gurgled.
That the Hit Man had contacted us all last month and suggested that we reopen the temple and restate our mission was hardly believable as I watched him jump and gloat and lick his sticky fingers over his donut victory. But it is what it is and here we all were…minus Boneless Frank, Chicken Little and Brother Ezra who is currently on his annual tent show revival tour of the bible belt. As long as there exist fundamentalist Christians in the world Brother Ezra feels it is his divinely appointed duty to convert them to the one true conscious spirituality or at the very least corrupt the souls of those too stubborn to see the light.
Mary once asked him what he thought Jesus would think of his mission.
“I don’t know,” Br. Ezra replied, “I work for the other guy.
Mary just rolled her eyes in disgust as the feisty little firebrand chuckled in his maniacal way. I shuddered a little. I never know what to believe with Ezra. He once facilitated a séance in which he channeled the late Anton LeVay and that still freaks me out to this day.
Mary M knew better than to continue on with this line of questioning. Br. Ezra would just end up baiting her. Usually he would ask her why she was a befreckled red head given that Mary Magdalene would probably have been Jewish. Mary could choose what ever form she wanted and Ezra knew this. She chose her present form as an affectionate gesture toward me. I have a thing for women with red hair and freckles. I also love big, strong noses on women too…think Melanie Blatt of All Saints….but that is one concession she won’t cater to. She prefers the cute little upturned number she has now. I have to admit it works for her.
Mary is a feminist and it often surprises people that she gives into my preference. But I think these folks misunderstand what a feminist is. Besides she doesn’t always walk around in this present version of her. It really is at her whim.
Socrates started retching.
“I am out of here.” I announced.
Mary nodded in agreement and we left the conference room my back was still aching from my yoga practice the previous night and I needed to lay down flat. I had lost my concentration during a forward bend and didn’t extend my spine properly. Instead I wrenched it making the lower back ach and throb. I could barely walk earlier today.
We also needed to figure out if the Sleeping Oracle would ever be a source of cosmic information again and whether or not the cryptic messages from the Benevolent Space Brethren about the pending final fireworks display signaling the end of our present age were real. Although the Space Brethren had provided useful information in the past it is hard to completely trust a species that has a fondness for anal probes and installing microchips up your nasal cavities. Without the Sleeping Oracle to validate it I felt like we were flying blind.
All I knew for sure is that the days ahead are bound to be weird….as they always are.