Nagoonberry

This world. This place. This life.

The Bearded Egg

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It’s a well-known fact among my partner’s family that I don’t need recreational drugs.  My quirky brain takes care of that all by itself, thank you.  Add jet lag, sleep deprivation, and good company, and my mind visits some pretty strange places.

Late at night during one visit home to Michigan all these factors gave birth to the theory of the Bearded Egg.

We were sitting at the kitchen table, playing an interminable game of hand-and-foot.

Somehow, the conversation turned to religion.  My partner’s sister was stunned to discover that I no longer believed in God.

I tried to explain that I don’t believe in a single, unified intelligence that controls everything.  I described this intelligence as a giant egg.

I talked about the patriarchal God that springs to mind for many of us when we hear the word “God”:  the bearded old man in the sky.

And by the end of a conversation filled with a great deal of laughter, she understood that the God I don’t believe in is a Bearded Egg.  To this day, “the Bearded Egg” has become our family’s version of what others have called the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

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