Having Fun With God
An Authorized Autobiography
by
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Against all odds, two stooped and hairy hominids wandered into my terrestrial sanctuary and began to set up housekeeping. Up to this point in time I had arranged it so that no animal life forms would be present to interrupt my soliloquies should I take up temporary abode there. No fauna but lots of flora, including flowers, mosses, grasses, and an almost infinite variety of fruit trees. You name it and it was there. In fact, there are still a few scattered trees in the area (but I won’t reveal the location). I’ve always been partial to fruits over vegetables. You couldn’t get me to eat cauliflower. Of course it isn’t necessary that I, as a god, ingest any comestibles, since my real nature is without physical substance. At any rate, these two intruders are so taken with the bountiful surroundings that they abandon their wandering ways and decide to linger indefinitely in my home away from home. And no wonder. There were no threatening life forms, the weather was ideal, and there was an abundance of food, if somewhat limited in variety--no meat or vegetables, no spices, no intoxicants or depressives. Just fruit and, of course, water. I became aware of this intrusion the moment it occurred. It’s not, as one of my tenants have insisted, that I know everything that is going on everywhere. I am blithely unaware of most happenings, events, incidents and experiences as they occur. In fact, early in my sojourn, I isolated myself from the constant cacophony of cosmic continuance. A god has better things to do. I could, of course, take cognizance of any particular occurrence, either as it was happening or as a replay. Thus, my retreats were equipped with a method of informing me that can be likened to a hominid trip wire but is infinitely more complicated and simple. At any rate, against all odds these two hairy creatures stumbled into my little hideaway on this remote planet far from the center of the universe (In truth, there is no center; nevertheless, the planet is remote from most of the celestial action.) *** ... there was a barely discernible intake of breath from the couple at a small table directly in line with the door; then, as others recognized the figure who made his way toward my booth, a low murmur pervaded the room. By the time my guest had seated himself, several people were craning their necks for a better look, hoping against hope that they were really seeing who they thought they were seeing. "Mr. Vichyssoise, so good to see you again. It has been a long time," exclaimed the spitting image of W. in a west Texas drawl mildly modified by a hint of Down East. "Yes, in Israel; you, Ruth Ann, and Abraham, as I recall," referring to a brief exchange we had in Judea, "when you almost succeeded in upsetting my apple cart." "You and your apples. So, what gives, lord and master?" Snake was enjoying the moment. Underneath his frivolity he knew that something important was going on and that he was being made a part of it. "Before I give what gives, perhaps you should modify your appearance. The patrons are beginning to overcome their incredulity." Indeed, two portly men and one heavily mascaraed woman had left their seats and were approaching our booth, the man in front beginning to hold out his hand and pursing his lips preparatory to introducing himself. "Oh, sure. Sorry about that, Maurice." With that, Snake metamorphed into the image of AG but not before briefly becoming a human-sized Tyranosaurus Rex. The three approachers froze in their steps, while others who had seen the apparent transformations quickly returned to their drinks and each other, at which point Snake took on the appearance of Willard Cram, Mr. Average Guy if there ever was one. "All right, Snake, you’ve had your fun. What would you like to drink?" "Are you buying? If not, I have some pre-Christian Roman coins that should cover our tab. To answer your question, I think I’ll have a Rattler."
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About the Book
This novel is not directed at a niche audience. It is not a Gothic, mystery, fantasy, science fiction, history, romance, sex (well, maybe just a tad), adventure, or religious book. Nor is it a feel good book. Instead, it roams the universe, transcending time and space as it looks in on historical figures, such as Abraham, Elizabeth I, Jefferson, Rasputin, Kennedy, and other famous and infamous notables, while also visiting other worlds: Stripy, home of the frenetic Frantiques; the beautiful planet Maroney in the constellation Gravada that has fifteen thousand primary colors; and Grossius, the "mud planet" where the disgusting Grossers dwell. It also contains interesting asides, like why love bugs are so aptly named, and the frustration of so many males on the planet Boyardia. The book will have little appeal to closed minds, but for those even slightly ajar it suggests the possibility of other realities and revelations. The emergent universal deity gives short shrift to organized religion, professional sports, and war, as they don’t fit into his/her/its agenda for achieving the preferred denouement of the universe. Beyond the long march through time and space, and all that it reveals, this book is about having fun.
About the Author
John Lowther is a published author, editor, and playwright. His work includes two monographs for Academic Press on launch sites and tracking stations, several plays that have been performed in Florida and upstate New York, editorship of a publication for the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, and a yearbook for the Space Pioneers Organization. Mr. Lowther’s writings draw on an extensive and multi-faceted background: in no particular order he his been a college administrator, adjunct English instructor, Navy radioman, editor of a house organ, tower operator, state coordinator of an AARP program, technical writer, student, state planner; assembly line worker, sheet stripper, automobile scheduler, composer of Tom Swifties, husband of one wife and father of five children. .