We should all start our own church, maybe along the lines of Scientology. It pays.
I read a book about the Church of Scientology and was quite taken with the concept of space aliens and odd fellows. I went to my attic, wondering the while about the mysteries of the universe and why I thought I would find the answers to them in the rafters.
A solitary fly buzzed by to land all unwitting on the windowsill. The sun was streaming in the window and lighting up the dust motes, which were floating about, looking odd.
The dust motes floated and lingered, moving about in a non-random manner, and began to tickle my nose.
At first I thought it was just my outer consciousness thinking about cleaning, which I do eighty percent of the time. I took over a sixth period world geography class one day, gave the kids their assignment, and spent the next ten minutes straightening up the absent teacher’s desk.
I don’t know why I’m compelled to do such things. Some teachers probably return and create voodoo dolls of the Sub Who Cleaned, because they can’t find their empty paper cup with the congealed remains of coffee, lipstick smears around the rim, that I found under their desk.)
The dust motes shone in the noon day sun and resolved themselves into a shape. A shape at once frightening and divine.
For lo! They had formed a great, strange shape of something that may have been human, may have been superhuman.
The groovy thing about the motes is that they formed a shape with part of the dust cloud and formed words with the other part. The words the motes formed said, “See me, and bow down with dust cloths.”
Overcome with awe, I prostrated myself upon the dusty floor and awaited further instructions from the Great Mote Cloud. In the silence the Mote began to speak to me. I cannot tell you what the Mote uttered, for it is not for me to reveal until further notice.
Every week since the Great Dust Revelations I have invited other celebrants to worship in my attic on Lint Day. There is an uplifting sermon and readings from a Wise Book, like Good Housekeeping. Some sermons include posts from my blog and verses from my unfinished manuscripts.
When I am gone, having shuffled off this outer lint trap, these scriptures from the Sacred Church of the Holy Dust Motes will be preserved in a titanium-lined vat and stored in a Storage Shed of my followers’ choosing, perhaps in an isolated area in New Mexico.
To find a bigger home for my followers and our Dust Mote teachings we’re setting sail for Points Unknown. We shall find a country to make our own, even if it’s already taken.
Our chosen country may have a flag and a government, but no matter, with stealthy planning, it will become ours.
When I return from the ether, ready to grant to the world the secrets of the Code of the Combination Lock, we shall open the vats and share the scriptures with the world.
In the meantime, we are filing lawsuits against the agency that can grant us immortality and tax-exempt status. With enough lawsuits, we are bound to prevail, and the agency will buckle like an ancient brownstone in an earthquake.
I know this can all be done, for it Hath Come to Pass that I have heard of it happening for ‘Ron El Hubbley’ and his church of Science and Ologies.
The only fact with which I have taken great liberty is that I have no attic. Forgive me, for I have dusted.