My 3 Bedrooms

I am lucky! When bedtime calls, I can sleep in one of three beds. Last night I chose my original upstairs bedroom where I haven't slept in six months due to my addiction to watching bedtime television.

And so it was that I climbed up the bed - it's quite high off the ground - sipped from my ever-present glass of water - and opened up the remaining pages of Franny and Zooey. I'd like to share one of my favorite parts, p. 169, followed by some more profound riveting prose from yours truly. We find Franny, who enjoys chanting a Jesus Prayer, in the midst of a small nervous breakdown. Her brother Zooey addresses her:

I can't see...how you can pray to a Jesus you don't even understand. And what's really inexcusable, considering that you've been funnel-fed on just about the same amount of religious philosophy that I have...is that you don't try to understand him....

God almighty, Franny, if you're going to say the Jesus Prayer, at least say it to Jesus, and not to St Francis and Seymour and Heidi's grandfather all wrapped up in one....

My God! He's only the most intelligent man in the Bible, that's all! Who isn't he head and shoulders over? Who? Both Testaments are full of pundits, prophets, disciples, favorite sons, Solomons, Isaiahs, Davids, Pauls - but, my God, who besides Jesus really knew which end was up? Nobody. Not Moses. Don't tell me Moses. He was a nice man, and he kept in beautiful touch with his God, and all that - but that's exactly the point. He had to keep in touch. Jesus realized there IS no separation from God. Oh, my God, what a mind! who else, for example, would have kept his mouth shut when Pilate asked for an explanation? Not Solomon. ..Solomon would have had a few pithy words for the occasion. I'm not sure Socrates wouldn't have, for that matter...

But most of all, above everything else, who in the Bible besides Jesus knew - knew - that we're carrying the Kingdom of Heaven around with us, inside, where we're all too goddam stupid and sentimental and unimaginative to look? You have to BE a son of God to know that kind of stuff...[God] picked the best, the smartest, the most loving, the least sentimental, the most unimitative master he could possibly have picked.

Well, I hope you like this as much as I do, O Reader. And of course we know that Jesus just happened to be Jewish tho that shouldn't stop the Mel Gibsons of the world. What is it with them? A brain mutation? The product of poor parenting? I mean these people are all around us. I myself advertise my Jewishness. I'm proud of it and shout it from the rooftop as I wave Santa's sleigh over and offer him some hot cream of wheat with frozen raspberries like I'm eating right now! (I made it with rice milk since my kidney-healthy diet doesn't permit real milk.)

I'm lying in my newfound bedroom looking around at how I've decorated it. A painting of a covered bridge given to me by an artist in Bristol and closet doors I smeared with paint after I first moved in. Can't stand plain things. Bo-ring! I try to have my house look like the Barnes Museum, artfully crammed.

Oh, what I wanted to mention was I'm very suggestible. This is true. After I read the above passage I thought I should get back into praying. So when I closed my eyes (fortunately not for the final time, I've still got "miles to go before I sleep") I entered my inner kingdom, and nothing happened!

So then this brilliant idea struck. Pretend, I thought, you're in a horrific situation. Oh, sure, I said to myself. I'll definitely pray then.

So I pictured being caught in a landslide of snow. And trying to tunnel my way to safety. The thought was so horrific, I turned on the light and started reading again.