Found!-- treasured fragments of GLP archives

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I have been bemoaning the fact that so many well written, entertaining posts have disappeared into the black hole of cyber-space to be lost forever. Even the ones that I had saved to my computer were lost in a meltdown. And then I remembered someone (during the last glp hiccup) suggested doing a Google ´cached´ search if anyone wanted to find some glp archives... anyone ever tried it? I am so thrilled! I re-discovered some real gems that were preserved by typing in a user name + godlike productions ((it also helps to include the title of the thread )). I did have to ask google to "repeat the search with the omitted results included" and then just clicked on the cache link....


Here´s one of my favorites by CnoEvil:



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...playing in the dirt



I remember waking early one morning to the sounds of a tractor and seagulls outside my bedroom window. Winter had just surrendered to spring´s embrace and gazing out of my window at the barely risen sun and the sight and sound of first tilling captured my imagination, luring me out the door. I was still the only child, prone to mischief and flights of fantasy, convinced full well of the truth and magic of dreams, of beauty and of the loving nature of God and the Universe. I remember the fascination of the smallest details and the bewilderment of wide open spaces. I instinctively trusted in the goodness of all.

Being the only one awake that morning, at that particular time, was an advantage of irresistable force for a 4 year old. I crept out my front door and stood on the little open porch that spanned the front of the small bungalow. There I let myself become hypnotized by the drone of the tractor and the crying of the seagulls circling in a cloud around this magical event. The sweet smell of fresh turned soil hung heavy in the air like perfume and before I knew it I was romping across the clumpy damp furrows in my underware. Never mind getting dressed, no time for that; it never entered my mind. There´s no estimating the power of the spell released by tractors and seagulls and the sweet smell of mother earth in the heart and mind of a 4 year old. The piper pipped and I had to dance, it´s not like I had a choice.

I still remember that day almost 40 years later, one of a number of short clips stored away in the vault from those early days. Not many have survived the years, my memories of childhood are dim and much is forgotten of the glory that once was. It´s odd and distressing how so many beautiful visions become tainted when followed to their inevitable end, like my epiphany in the fresh plowed field. No one who is much older than four could truly understand this if they couldn´t recall similar short myths stored somewhere in deep.

Needless to say a mother´s concern is for different things and arises from different forces, forces that four year olds do not know nor care anything about. Only after a great deal of reflection and many years do we come to appreciate it honestly. We think we know the score in the years to come, only to find that the object of our education is like a chameleon, ever changing it´s colors depending on where we stand. Eventually I have come to see archtypes, indictments and justifications in almost all the stories of my life, and this one is no different.

Imagine the shock in a mother´s mind to wake up and find her child is gone as she runs frenzied out of the house in search of him. Just a simple glance to the left would solve this riddle when she looked over and saw her "little man" frolicking behind the tractor, diving from furrow to furrow in a cloud of circling seagulls. The man on the tractor didn´t seem to mind, in fact he didn´t even seem to notice, but I did. Me and the tractor and the earth and the seagulls were all caught in a dervish dance, decreed by the morning sun and blessed by the earths sweet odor offered up like an incense to God.

Mom didn´t see it that way and I was thrashed soundly for it, dragged out of the field in my underware covered in damp earth, tears streaming down from my face. I could not believe the betrayal, all the signs were propitious. How could this not have been a preordained moment of joy and oneness? Who was right and who was wrong?

In the years that followed I questioned this and many things, manifesting my tempest in a teacup. In my early years I was treated to an education that was to unveil the truth of a number of my worst suspicions. I was a faulty being, broken, in need of repair, and the heart was deceptive beyond all measure. The beliefs and inspirations that we hold in our hearts were the forbidden fruit that those who would save us are at war with in the name of God. In no way shall the natural man see heaven for at his very root there lies a coiled snake. His heart deceives him where ever he goes and he sniffs the air like an ass in heat for every foreign god and under every spreading oak. Surely his forehead is made of bronze and his neck is made of leather. I suppose that means me too.

I don´t resent what happened that day. Indeed, I forgot it until years later while doing inventory check. It looks differently to my mind now then it did when I was four years old. I understand my mothers concern. I also understand the trickery of the heart and the foilables it leads one to. Yes, my mind is satisfied that there is finally some recognition of truth in all these parables and all the woe that befalls us in the course of our lifetimes. But in my heart at all of four years old, I was never closer to God than that day in the field. I have never smelled a sweeter incense than the fresh turned earth, or been baptised by any water more holy than the pond in the woods, nor heard an angel´s chorus more beautiful than a flock of screeching seagulls.

So the war goes on and I struggle with my "natural" inclinations, my smug and sometimes bitter suspicion that I was born more right than I´ll ever know... that my heart knew the Source of all joy and revelled in the majesty of His creation. I and my Creator were One... once upon a time, long, long ago. Or maybe just yesterday.

My mind tells me to be careful, maybe I go where angels fear to tread. I ponder the consequences, capitulate or drive my flag into the mountain top. Who is who and what is what? I study the paradox yet my dry intellectual ponderings are no match for my heart and the keen sense of timing by which it sticks out it´s foot. I´m only left wondering if maybe we don´t just have everything all wrong.

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Go ahead! see if you can find one and include it here (: