Hitler died and went to hell. That is the common perception on the place of the "evil" dictator in his afterlife. But that perception is wrong. Instead, Hitler is in heaven having tea with God, sipping his minty tea and having chocolate as the warm liquid tickles his strange little moustache. It angers people to think that someone as "evil" as HItler should have a place in Heaven. But mostly that is because they don't understand the nature of God and the meaning of that nature.

People who tell you that God is good. He is love, he is compassion, he is justice and all that only has gotten it half right. God, I loathe to say "his" greatness is far more than just that. We have to think of God as a person, perhaps superficially a white bearded male clothed in light on a heavenly throne up on some clouds, that is a childish version of a God who is infinitely greater and has more wisdom than this image that has become a parody in this age when evil, beauty everything has become so blurred, and we have, as a race, become skeptical of any concrete polars between all these absolutes.

The truest nature of God perhaps can only be found in the first pages of the bible, because at the core if we really want to find the heart of a genuinely believable God in our day and age, and not find any hypocrisy or even any deep contradiction which will pull many a truly devoted believer apart who truly wants to fathom the heart of God. That is perhaps, impossible, but nevertheless we are a race which will keep trying, because it makes everything more bearable, and keeps us sane to know that out there somewhere there is a GOD and existence is not devoided of meaning.

Hitler is not in hell for a simple reason. God is the truest artist, the greatest and the most noble. He is in the deepest sense a creator, not just of the universe, of everything, but the act of creation itself, the freedom of artistry. (I cannot help but fall into the trap of saying he, because I, myself have been entrapped in this system which makes GOd impossible to be articulated without a human form and a gender). God, we must be aware, created all things, he is a story-teller, not in the sense that he dictates our lives and the events unfolding on earth, but he is a storyteller, a story weaver. He gives space for stories to unfold. Even if we do not want to admit the fact that God indeed created evil, he had allowed it to take place, to form itself.

I have asked myself this question so many times, if God is infinitely wise and all knowing, why did he allow evil to exist? Why did he let Adam and Eve betray him and hence the ensuing misery for all of human race and the ultimate sacrifice in his son. All this is so too very dramatic and at times too convenient. But if we are to take the Bible literally, we miss the greatest lesson-- in that stories is the heart of God. The Bible is God in its truest sense as stories. God as words, only half captures its beauty. God is the creator of stories. He induces stories to take place. God is the absence of the absolute, he is an absence, because he is a space, a freedom in which he lets our stories unfold. If God is only all goodness, and light, and we only know of one sided conrete-ness, then God is a tyrant.

But God is an artist, a creator without hypocrisy. An old movie on Jesus is titled "the greatest story ever told" perhaps speaks the most truth. That God allowed great evil in the world, that he allowed the holocaust, is the hardest contradiction we can ever swallow. If God is good, then how could he let this happen? "Evil" in this case is not the problem; it is God's goodness which is problematic.

WE have hence created a double sided twin for God, a satan to take the blame. But instead of making GOd more powerful, the creation of Satan diminishes God's power. God is not whole, he is a split, he has a twin, a dark half which is in some sense a nemesis and even an equal. Satan is a human creation, because we cannot understand God. God in the truest sense of compassion and love, is freedom and creation. And God is whole, beyond our limited understanding. I cannot conceive that God is split, that not everything in this existence is his creation. Because if I do, then there is at the heart a contradiction which I cannot live with. And I cannot live with the belief in such a God, who is only half formed, a surface, a contradictory half truth, a creator of intolerance to his creations, and who is a tyrant pretending to be an artist. If Hitler does not have a place with God, then neither does any one of us.

The jungle in the middle divides the two races. For centuries now they have not known of each other's existence. No one ventures beyond the dark fork in the jungle. It has been said that on both edges of the jungle, on both sides it is perfectly symmetric. They are the perfect mirror image of each other. The West side of the forest has a dark fork once travellers have passed the bubbling purple brook, on the East side it is exactly the same. No one has seen the source of the stream which according to oldwives tale has no beginning and no end. Rumor has it that if you went beyond that dark fork, you would never find your way back. And it was the entrance into some darker realm. THe fear was so powerful and held so many hostage that no one ever dared find out for certain what laid at the heart of the jungle.

Legend has it that there used to be two kinds of people who walked the earth and had lived in harmony, each the complement of the other in some way. They are meant to complete the lacks and flaws of each other. To the two races divided and without knowledge of the other, the other was just a myth, a fairytale. To the West of the jungle, war is raging. War has been constantly raging, the world there has turned altogether dark, grey and brown. Always the smell of burning and fire and war songs, shootings, explosions. THe stink of trenches, the world in grey. To the East, the tribe lived by pure instincts, songs and dances. The words-- history, civilization has lost their meaning. Language have long evaporated on both edges of the jungle. Strength on one side and the body in motion on the other side of the jungle were the rules.

A young soldier running from battle on a certain fateful day from one side of the jungle, traversed the dark fork. A young tribe dancer from the other end crossed the forbidden boundary while on a hunt. THey came to the heart of the jungle, in wihch laid a smooth lake like a mirror, bathed in mysterious moonlight, the sun was still high in the sky except the mysterious gleam of the moon shone slyly on the lake and the pair. It was both night and day, and time stood still for the moment. They looked at each other both in disbelief and in an old familiarity as if they have known each other for the longest time. As if time had a past tense in whcih both existed. Confronting the other, they have only heard of in legends and myths. THey faced each other like miror images of the same, freed of the vestiges of their differences. They stepped into the gleaming pool of mercury. The tribal dancer cleaned the blood off the soldier's face, and the soldier wiped the paint from the dancer's body. Then honest in their ntaural state they stood in front of each other. THey explored the other's body without shame. They were different. They were the same. They discovered the nuances of the body, the little spaces in between, the places where water may fall in and be contained, or places of the body that became extensions of the being in space.

An ancient source of wisdom teaches the couple what to do. How to dance an ancient dance-- a ritual of life. The source of the river opens glows a magnificent green, silver and gold. They can see that they are standing on the source of the river of life and the end of it. They need to reach the core of the other, reach out and unlock the person on the other side of the mirror. IF the dancer overwhelms the warrior,a boy will be born, if the warrior overwhelms the dancer a girl will be born. The life being will enter the river and follow its trial to its mysertious end. The couple continues to struggle--coming together and pulling apart. At the side of the pool, a hermaphrodite--the gaurdian of the lake watches with a knowing smile.

The Beatles asked this question first, not me. Scientists have finally found the answer or believe they have it, this time. Apparently, lonely people come from other universes-- out of that vast expanse out there we call the 'galaxy', but whose (yes, whose)real name is in fact John. John has been the 'galaxy' for almost 50 millenias now, he's still new to the job and occasionally these lonely people coming from other universes slip past John's noses (he has 10,000). Lonely people are in fact illegal migrants, immigrants from other universes. For example, just today, I met a man from the universe cheese, I was able to alleviate his lonely condition for the length of our conversation, but basically he had a relapse the moment I said goodbye. This makes a lot of sense because, lonely people feel like aliens. Well, in fact they are.

We earthlings must have sniffed out something uncanny in these people's beings. Maybe they smell like the wrong kind of cheese and we find their company unbearable. And what is new but discrimination and cruelty of human beings in general. WE are a xenophobic life form. We are afraid of our own fellow inhabitants of the planet, we chop them up into little bits or sizzle them on a pan in our tasty cannibalism, or we cut out body parts and wear them or use them as art decorations. What the heck that's us, and poor unfortunate lonely people have to choose to migrate here of all places. Migrants--these homeless lonely folks. Though, the studies have been inconclusive as to whether their loneliness was the trigger to their migration or a consequnce of it. All migrants are aliens(in legal terms) and all aliens are lonely. And all lonely people are aliens. A circular argument of sorts, but nevertheless still very logical in an Earthly kind of way. Mind you though, "alien" is a relative term. They have not always been aliens, back home they have been something else. The word Alien is of course a label and a vulgarity.

I think I will name my daughter Eleanor Rigby, so that she can have her origins marked right out and not try to blend in crazily, but I'm sure she will try her darnest to fit in. Lonely people are just like that they know the eventual outcomes, as history has always taught them, but still they try. I don't know where the line between preserverance and stupidity is. I don't even think line is a good word. And lonely people can never get together and form a society, because afterall they are lonely people. They can never just rise up and demand lonely people rights. Though they do protest on their own every single day.

I think crazy people have it much easier. Afterall, they are in their home ground. Craziness is an Earth-bound disease. These crazy people migrate to other universes and get labeled as cuckoos. But unlike lonely people, crazy people usually have a better chance, they don't bother fitting in, and do a pretty decent job of flaunting madness and turning pop stars.

Anyway, lonely people are almost certain to be misunderstood. I doubt you can understand all these sincere words from a lonely soul. (As to whether aliens have souls that is still currently being debated.) You probably already smell something fishy in this piece of prose. It won't be long before you whiff the cheese too.. Thanks for stopping by though. For a moment I felt less lonely.

Those little mangoes-- ripe and stupid
yellow monsters
sweet rotting meat
attracting the flies.
Those yellow
yellow
yellow
color of madness
heat
summer
and decay
unbelivable
strings--voilin
drifts in the air
dumb taiwanese pugilistic films
stupid
stupid
stupid
stupid
crap
crap
crap
crap
crap
crap
humpty dumpty
fall down and crack
die you ugly egg
no body will put you back together
all your yolk spilt and dried up
sizzling up in the sun
yellow
yellow
yellow
birds--crows
picking up the broken shell pieces
dead dead humpty dumpty
face smashed
into a million pieces
eyes plucked by crows
humpty dumpty leaning back
laughing at the crows trying to pick mangoes from trees
laughing laughing
leaning
back
a little
leaning more
crows watching expectantly
suddenly the earth spins just that little
humpty dumpty feels gravity's pull
the wall shifted beneath his ugly pants
air all around
the stout little arms flailing
a sound of sputtering and cracking
his insides are all out
the mangoes on the floor
yellow
the crows feed.