So, why am I, a bona fide major deity, a power player in the cosmic hereafter, son of the Big Sky Daddy, feeling like I crawled out of the 7th layer of hell having been reamed by the devil himself? What is this feeling? Is this guilt? I've never felt guilt before. Not during the Spanish Inquisition, all carried out in My name (although, truth be told, I didn't start it.) Not for the Holocaust (like I'd really do that to my peeps. Hel-loooo, I'm Jewish?) Not even when the Patriots lost the Super Bowl a year ago. What can I say? I had money riding on the Giants.
Well, let me back up and start at the beginning. I was stupid (which, incidentally, says very dismal things about you, my readers, as I am your Lord and God) and allowed myself to have feelings for a coworker, feelings that had no place in a place of business. Yeah, even deities have to make a living, and Pops had cut me off. Now, I knew that these feeling would never amount to anything. When I really realized what I was feeling, I took steps to get out of what could be a very nasty little cycle. I did some dating. Note to self: when a lady asks you if there is a crucifix in your pocket or you're just happy to see her, for fuck's sakes DON'T show her the crucifix. Met some women I liked. Saw a lot of potential in the world at large for dating. Felt good about myself, better than I've felt since Gethsemane. But, nothing worked out and so, like Romans nailing me to a cross, I hammered myself back into believing that there was no one out there. See, when you've seen 2,000 years of shit pile up and you haven't once been laid, you start to wonder if you ever will. And Zeus, not to mention some poor fool from Enumclaw, Washington, messed up the whole turn into an animal thing, which was never a good option anyway...unless you're looking for a little swan.
Well, there is the crux of the problem. Love, of any sort, is a conserved quantity. Don't ask for proof...it involves spin operators and spinors and many other very advanced tools of mathematics used in a fashion that, other than Yours truly, only Stephen Hawking understands...and I've asked he not say anything, and he hasn't. It's to my advantage, after all, to have people believe that just loving more is the answer. One can't just love more. Mathematically impossible, but gives people all sorts of great ideas, like writing lyrics around the phrase "All You Need Is Love." (Wrong, John. You need oxygen, too.) But it also brings out the best in them, for in thinking they love more, they in fact tap into the reserves of love they save for themselves. In spreading that love around, they tend (again, this is a statistical argument, very complex, don't ask for details) to receive love in return, replenishing that which they spent, and making them feel happy. And I, Your Lord, was guilty of the precise sin that I have cited so often recently when condemning investment bankers to Hell: I hoarded my love, and it became misdirected. The feelings for my coworker intensified. I spent some work in a group of like-minded deities just learning to accept what is real, but I never really did. Told myself that I was past it, that I wanted her to be happy, hoped she'd find someone...decided I could be a friend, even just a minor friend, in addition to a coworker.
Apparently, I was wrong.
Earlier this week, I learned, via listening to her speak about it at work, about a new someone she met. I should have been happy for her. True love, transformed into agape, would have rejoiced for her, that she had found someone interested in her, interest she could reciprocate. What I felt, though, was love of self, not altruistic fraternal affection and happiness. I felt jealousy, among other things. I was not proud of these feelings, but I can't deny them. I should have stifled them, or better, removed myself entirely from the situation, recognizing my role and its' invalidity. Yesterday, I did something I had no business doing, and intruded into a space that she considers private. To complicate things, it also appears that this young woman had been for some time displeased with me for a variety of other reasons, and I didn't know. I might be from the 1st Century AD, but I do know how to bathe, and do so regularly. She, on the other hand, had made complaints about my hygiene. Other things, too, I've apparently done, and major deity though I am, I cannot fathom what they are. But unless she is pulling a Peter at dawn on me, she is telling the truth as she sees it, which means I've done other things to offend or hurt her.
Needless to say, my earthly employer, who despite being a godless heathen, has more goodness than your typical holy roller, is now my former earthly employer, putting me back on the Old Man's Dole. And, not knowing the extent of what I've done, I still say that I deserved it. Even if she (and I do not believe this to be true) made up everything she said about me, my actions were inappropriate enough, that I deserved it.
So guilt, oh yes, there is much guilt. I hurt someone who should have been a treasured friend for many, many years. I hurt someone who was a treasured friend for many, many years. I don't get do-overs here, and deities don't collect friends as a rule. Too much begging and praying to be getting on with. I've lost something special, and I've no one to blame but myself. Since none of the references on my resume check out (I appear to be the only 2,000 year old Jewish carpenter walking the planet - who would have guessed?) I have dug myself a very, very deep hole, and placed a big ass rock in front of the entrance. This is one of those times when a god wishes he had a god to pray to. I want forgiveness, but I really don't deserve it. I want to make amends, but I don't know how, save by staying away from these people forever. I don't know how to go forward, save by letting time carry me there on its' own. Why have I forsaken Myself?
