What if a Much of a Which of a Wind ...

Appropos of a followup to my last post, I read something today that harkened to that alarming era of nuclear proliferation that I grew up with and which traumatized me greatly: Apparently our mentally deteriorating president has vowed to utterly destroy North Korea. The moral sickness that would allow this, in my opinion, would be unprecedented -- with no excuse from Trump other than he can't deal with them and thinks he'll be a hero.

I felt moved to write this on Facebook and copy it here:

If the end of the world ever approaches and I'm still alive, I will likely seek comfort from a divine being. But it will not be the judgmental god who condemns the unbaptized, the unchurched, the people created with fluid gender and fluid spirit, the ones who love their own gender. I will not seek comfort from a god that runs a country club and keeps a checklist of who to exclude, or one who requires a secret password to enter the clubhouse. I will not seek a god that requires servility -- that sounds too much like the Devil.

I will seek out the God who forgives even those who pushed the nuclear button, wise enough to know how fallible Her creation was. Who appears as a God, Goddess, or multiple deities to different people. A Being so pure that all visages are His/Hers. A Being who will take my soul and others, and the remaining particles of our bodies, and create again.

Note: I know some of my friends are atheists, and I don't want to exclude you from my dream. It may be that my God is your rationality, or you think I delude myself with this fantasy. I will accept this as a possibility, and thank you for bringing up this possibility.

Note 2: I know some of my friends are conservative or fundamentalist or evangelical. I am not saying that your God doesn't love you. But your God doesn't love me, because your religion may call me apostate because of my acceptance of my LGBT, pagan, and atheist brothers and sisters. I will always choose the God who loves us all unconditionally and does not exile any of us to eternal torment.

Peace.

I still think, as the poem above (written by ee cummings) later states, that "... the single secret will still be man". That maybe we can find a way out of the messes we get ourselves in, and change hearts and minds in a way that shares the riches of the world rather than hoarding them.