Friday, March 27, 2015

Satan as Co-Pilot


I am so confused.

Non-stop television news coverage of horrific events often has a numbing effect. Usually, after the first hour or two, I rely upon the repetitious chatter simply for some companionship and background noise. By the third hour, even though I am only half listening, I can recite the stories verbatim, having heard the same exact ones too many times as they loop their way around the ongoing broadcast. I no longer react to the ominous music that accompanies the announcer's occasional proclamation of "BREAKING NEWS;" I already know that the plane crash in the French Alps was not an accident, that the murderous co-pilot had always seemed so "normal," that the pilot had been locked out of his own cockpit and the co-pilot had been able, without not one computer geek on the ground noticing, to reprogram the auto-pilot in mid-flight to make a crash inevitable . I even know -- theoretically, at least, the way I know how to do CPR on a doll -- how to lock the cockpit door from the inside and where to find the useless keypad just outside.

There is no shortage of experts on CNN. I assume there will soon be, if there is not one already, a consultant specializing in aircraft crew lavatory behavior, particularly since the TSA will no doubt be scrambling to issue new regulations on the subject. That's just the way post-9/11 operators operate; if there's a bomb in a shoe, they will x-ray all shoes, if there's explosive powder in a drink, there will be no outside drinks, if somebody with dark skin appears to be sweating, there will be a full body cavity search. What will they think of next? Well, it all depends on what or who causes the next disaster. Maybe a psychiatrist in every cockpit. Maybe a cache of uber-grenades capable of penetrating a grenade proof door -- sealed, of course, in an overhead bin with a secret code that can override overrides.

We live in a crazy world, where seemingly normal and competent people can singlehandedly end hundreds of lives and ruin countless others. We are running out of bandaids. We are at a loss. And we are all, sadly, at a point where nothing surprises us.

Well, hardly anything. As I went about my business, hoping for some new articulation of questions and maybe even some new answers, my waning attention was grabbed by an unfamiliar voice: "Hi. I'm Ron Reagan." Isn't he dead? I ran back into the room to watch. This Ron Reagan did not look anything like Nancy's husband. He was thin, about my age, with lots of teeth, including one vampire-quality standout on the right side. He was engaging in a bit of a rant about religion and atheism, capping it all off with the somewhat bold statement that he is not afraid of Hell. Of course he isn't. You can't be afraid of something you don't believe in.

Young Ron was speaking on behalf of the Freedom From Religion Foundation (FFRF). With a lull in new information about the tragic plane crash, I began to wonder what the FFRF was all about. I could not believe it was simply about being an atheist and being fearless about Hell. Information was scant, but, from what I could tell, FFRF is less about standing for a particular position regarding God and Hell than it is about standing for separation of church and state and the freedom to choose one's beliefs or non-beliefs and the freedom to not have religion of any kind rammed down one's throat. Ron's little ad, in my opinion, was not doing justice to what could be a very good cause. And it certainly seemed a bit inappropriate when so many innocent lives had just been lost in such a senseless way. On the bright side -- if there is one -- it did catch my attention.

As I said, I am confused. About why anybody, suicidal or not, can be so reckless and evil and place so little value on life. About why, so many years after 9/11, we still cannot figure out a way to keep the good guys in and the bad guys out. About why some guy with a Dracula-esque mouth can capitalize on his father's name to make a mockery of what might otherwise be a legitimate cause. And, perhaps, about how I -- and many others -- have become so numb.

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