From the Desk of Madame Zuchini

A Quack in the Sidewalk

Madame, it seems has become quite controversial. If controversial can be defined as being called a quack.  Madame has dark spirits that guide her in this time of the month – the Day of the Dead. When the dead come out and speak to the living. The controversy lies, I suppose, in the fact that I don’t find the dead very interesting. Especially as guided by certain self proclaimed ghost whisperers on television. The dead always seem to want us to know they are “okay”, or that they love us. But does death really negate the bad in the person who has passed on? For all of us know there are certain things for which we should be held accountable. Is Adolf Hitler “okay”?  Does he deserve to tell loved ones that? Some dead people are not okay. They are paying the price of their selfishness, their, “whoever dies with the most toys wins” attitude.

I’m not talking about Hell. Who’s Hell would it be, if I were? Madame has already talked extensively on the matter of whose religion is the “right” one and whose is “wrong”.  Watch South Park if you’re still confused.  Can Gawd be so narrow minded after all?  Is finding Gawd really like threading the head of a needle? If so, old people are screwed. Madame included. I think Gawd is far more expansive than the popular religions would have us believe, and that the “punishment” for not being more magnanimous in life; more magnanimous with your time, your love, your patience and yes, your money, is far more creative than a burning Hell, or reincarnating as an iguana.  There are moments of crystalline clarity, where we see with perfect pitch the pain we’ve caused another with a throw-away remark or a careless dismissal, and we feel the desperate aloneness of eternity in that moment and that is our punishment. Gawd has a way of making us feel the negativity we’ve passed on so that it scorches our soul, not with fire, but with clarity.  Clarity….oh Lord Madame needs another drink, keep the clarity for after death.

The Catholic church came up with the vision of a Burning Hell with a red deviled monkey bopping about with a farmer’s tool. We must remember the literacy percentage of those days and the literal -ness of the spoken word. When only priests can read Latin, and the book around which your entire world revolves is only in Latin, then let Latin speaking priests rule the world!  And rule they did. They stole the innocence of their parishioner’s souls. They stole the love for and from Gawd from the serf’s trembling mouths; in short, they put a bounty on the head of Truth and made a fortune from it. Oh, the romantic picture of the cracked cobblestone steps leading up to the house of Gawd, where only shame and guilt and brimstone live. One can imagine the commoner, the farmer;  vassals of their tribal lord, perhaps the lords themselves, indeed, especially the lords themselves, wandering the cobblestones with  hope and dread. Hoping for redemption, dreading the price it bore.  They are all now, dead of course. And it is their bitterness and raw deal we fear when we whistle by graveyards. What would these ghosts long laid to rest say if Madame Rotini, Madame’s arch nemesis, were to rattle them from their clarity? Not much I’d venture.

So, have fun on the day of the Dead and don’t worry too much about what the dead have to say, most of them were boring non-latin speaking souls in life, so why should they be any different in death?  Are they really going to tell you where you lost your precious cameo? NO. They will dribble some drabble and then go back to where they came from, which if you’ve read Madame’s previous posts you will know is the flow of energy that yearns and longs all things into existance. Reach out for your own soul. You will find yourself far more interesting than Joe Schmoe who died last year. Your loved ones are fine, do you really need John Edwards to tell you that? I mean what else is  he going to say?

Now where has my nephew gone with that winetini ?  Madame out.