Morning Blood in Mio; Prologue

In the beginning, there was Nothing. When Nothing got bored, it started mingling with all the empty space in between which led to Stuff in unfathomable amounts

A lot of that Stuff became stars—not the red-carpet walking, jewel-studded, peacocking, Hollywood type of star but the red dwarf, blue giant, and yes, even the elusive neutron type of star. The bright, flickering kind that helped people realize we were never alone.

With space as their hangout, and nothing but dark matter impeding their dance floor, the planets got together and decided it would be pretty cool—or hot, depending on who you asked—to hang out with all those stars. “You weren’t hip,” they said, “until you found your own star to orbit.”

Of particular interest: Earth.

Once Earth wised up and lassoed itself an atmosphere, interesting things happened with a swirling butt-load of the aforementioned Stuff.

The oceans filled, the mountains peaked, the forests plumed, all creating the precise amount of oxygen and other sciencey goodness that made the planet come alive. (1)While this is not a lesson in astrophysics, it is a lesson about serendipity. As such, it would be irresponsible not to mention the fact that life, as we know it, shouldn’t exist. The odds, in fact, are so stacked against life (stacked even higher than the odds of Rodney from down the street ever moving out of his mother’s garage), it’s almost irrational to believe humankind hasn’t been put here for some divine purpose. Instead, we squander. But it’s understandable; The Office isn’t going to watch itself.  There was room for fish and mountain lions, snakes and eagles, and—to everyone’s chagrin—country-western singers.

Then, keeping in order with life’s natural progression, anglers came for the fish, poachers for the lions, and when they realized the lavish lifestyles of the country-western singers—admiring their passion for life and their utter lack of concern for personal hygiene—pop singers joined the mix. They tip-tapped their designer, snakeskin boots to the beat of everyone else’s own drum. It wasn’t very complex or even in time, but that’s a story for another day.

At last, there was God.

The brightest minds often overlook the most important question: which came first, the chicken or the egg? God or humanity? The best philosophical approaches to answering this question, as with other controversial inquiries, led down many-pronged paths of intellectual enlightenment to one ultimate answer. It was also a decent answer anytime the philosopher’s wives asked them to do something unpleasant around the house.

Yes. Or, in the most desperate of times, Yes, ma’am. Would you also like me to clean out the garage?

The other questions weren’t so simple. Why are we here? What’s our purpose on Earth? Is our universe real or are we living in the Matrix?(2)While one might assume the movie starring Keanu Reeves and Gloria Foster, this theory actually suggests we are spiraling down the dusty roads of the American southwest in a Toyota Matrix hatchback, with the windows down and the Grateful Dead blaring across the desert sands. No one has yet to provide solid evidence supporting the Matrix Theory; no one has refuted it, either. What time of day does Burger King actually have fresh French fries? A large subsect of humanity needed deeper meaning beyond the fact they were alive in the first place.

God anticipated these questions. Even though she prepared answers for herself during the early stages of creation, she remained silent on the major issues. Instead, she wrote a book. She threw in some parts about treating thy neighbors with kindness; entering loving, committed relationships with our spouses; not lying; doing unto others as others should do unto you, and so forth. She also threw in some parts about burning witches, selling daughters as sex slaves, and purchasing women you’ve raped. But let’s face it: in today’s market, fluffy rainbows don’t sell books.

Besides, the one time we became too unruly, she drowned the whole of existence. Don’t worry, though. She made up for it with, you guessed it, a rainbow. Oh, and there was that other time when she had to give those pesky Egyptians a stern talking to, but they deserved every plague of their punishment. If you asked her, she’d say they got off easy.

“I’d do it again, too,” she said in an interview about her book release. “Might move some furniture around, keep it fresh for the kids, you know. Make everyone wear brighter colors. But, yeah, I’d do it again. Why not? I’m mother-freakin’ God.”(3)Before you judge God too harshly, we all go through phases. God has experimented for a long time. Here, she was test-driving the “Bad Boy Thrown into Sudden Fame” phase. She wouldn’t intervene; she’d focus on her art. Major self-success comes with massive pressures from critics and fans alike. People expect more. They ask, “What’s next?” Given enough time, they wonder if the first one might have been a fluke. There’s nothing like a hobby—painting or sculpting or semi-professional beatboxing, for example—to relieve the stress of expectation. When it comes to God, there have been expectations a-plenty.

Since then, God made a conscious decision to stay out of humanity’s business.

In the long run, her blasé approach to raising her children was in everyone’s best interest. No one liked a helicopter parent.

Still, there were extenuating circumstances when God ought to have stepped in. Sometimes events played out in inadmissible ways. Sometimes the Others—her son, the Adversary, lesser gods, yadda yadda—forced her hand. When one of them got involved, she was compelled to strap on her Wolverines and pull up her shirtsleeves.

Which brings us to our story.

This isn’t divine doctrine or pretentious commentary. It’s not a clever means at making you, our dear reader, a believer or otherwise. It’s not even a great document to pop on the back of your toilet seat; though, you might find it useful for beating clear a drain clog if you roll it tight enough or as a mediocre TP replacement during times of scarcity.

Nay, this is Morning Blood in Mio.