When friends ask me what holy books I believe in, I say that holy books are a sad crutch for a sad group of people who are no longer directly in contact with the Gods. Direct contact with the Gods is far more sublime than any stagnant set of words claiming to be from the mouth of “God.” If they persist in asking for my favored holy book, I respond: “NATURE! The Gods are in the maple leaves!” If the dunces claim that nature is not a book, I will point them towards Ovid, Heraclitus, and the writings of D. H. Lawrence, particularly his “Last Poems.” “But,” they respond, “you have still avoided the question. What is your holy book?” Okay, dear readers, I will let the cat out of the bag, my holy book is
Lively!