The Scribblings of Saint Fnordius

Random utterances and musings from the now-defunct Hermetic Order of Knights under Munich.

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Location: Bayreuth, Bavaria, Germany

A writer in his spare time who sometimes does pencil sketches, a web designer and hobby philosopher who can be a gentle and funny friend or a nasty and bitter curmudgeon depending on the weather and who you ask.

27 September 2006

It just has to be said.

George W. Bush is a dishonest, callous coward. I wish I could elaborate, but his mendacity has left me speechless for now.
I will write more once I have reagained self-control.

21 September 2006

A fable from the Saint's own hand (and experience)

Whether it contains a grain of truth or not is for you to decide. I am sending this to you because I have been told you have an open mind.

I was relaxing, sipping an espresso in a busy café in Vienna when I saw an angel. This in itself didn’t bother me, as angels often appear to me but only on the edge of my vision, giggling and avoiding me. But this one was different, as she sat next to me n the sofa.

Now, I don’t take any illicit drugs, so I doubt that I was hallucinating. Besides, she smelled of wild lavender and seemed to glow from within. She leaned in close and whispered in my ear:

“God is pissed.”

Doesn’t sound like a typical thing for an angel to say, does it? I looked at her, and she looked back with a smile on her face, but her eyes were deadly serious.

I cleared my throat. “That’s pretty heavy thing to say. What did I do to piss God off?”

“You personally? Nothing. That’s why I’m telling you this. It’s those who claim to do My work that irk Me.”

She paused as I realised just who the angel was. Deep in my soul, I knew I knew Him. Her. Whatever.

“You understand. Good. Now know this. What irks Me the most is that everybody believes these blowhards that once said that they talked to Me when all they wanted was to spread their own message.

“This is my only Message to Creation. Nobody is appointed by My will. I’m not your nanny, and I won’t step in to end the Universe. No Rapture, no Final Battle. Believe in yourself, and stop asking Me or My sons Jesus and Buddha to intercede. We’re not interested.”

“Er,” I said, “you mean ‘you’ as in ‘you humans’, not me personally. I’m an agnostic. I’m not even sure You exist, or are just a figment of my imagination.”

The angel laughed, a tinkling, bell-like laugh (an overused cliché, I know, but I swear I did hear tiny silver bells and a faraway church bell in her laugh). “Cheeky. But I like that. You’re smart enough to learn and follow the laws of nature, and not expect Me to cheat in the game of life for you. And because I like you, I’m going to reveal another secret to you.” She leaned in close, and her auburn locks brushed my shoulder. “There was only one Miracle with a capital M, and that was the Big Bang. It was arranged by twenty-three angels, who divided themselves into five equal groups of five. I was all twenty-three. And so were you.”

With that, she was no longer there. No rustle, no Hollywood effects, she simply left. If I hadn’t written it down as soon as she left, I might discount it as a daydream now.

But I can still feel the spot where she kissed me after telling me her riddle.