Eleven thirty at night.
It is still 82 degrees in the house after a 100 degree day. The cloudless sky was white with the heat and heaven was a long ways away, unless the kingdom of God is within us, held within inner space and created through human thought. Keats wanted to know if poetry has the power to unite people with a better world, an otherworld of spirit, like the Platonic ideal. If we’ll ever know, the time may be getting close for revelation. So far we’ve seen no sign of the coming of Jerusalem, while the sun from a clear sky bakes everybody to a raisin. Were we dumb to believe in Kingdom Come? For the first two years of my recovery I went to church every Sunday morning, believing to be safe. Over time, the antipsychotic grew more effective and the angels fell from heaven like meteors. Perhaps I was a fool. My knowledge of modern science returned: the earth is now just a ball floating in space, orbiting the sun for a complete circuit every year. No heaven and no hell. I was freed from a silly illusion spread by the Church.
The veterinarian returned my call this evening regarding my dog’s moods: to my dismay she suggested putting him on doggie Prozac and calling the Humane Society for advice. Can she be serious? A dog on Prozac? I absolutely refuse to agree to such a thing. Aesop would be bouncing off the walls and just a mixed up mess. Prozac is a terrible drug for people, let alone for a poor dog. Again I have to take the law into my own hands and reply a stentorian negative. Doggie psychiatry is a complete bullshit.
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