Revelation ain’t happenin’ here, pilgrim. Santa ain’t pullin’ up alongside the gurney to hand- deliver the Truth of the Universe as I lie at the lip of whatever’s next. And what if he did? Santa, I mean. What if he did bring the Answer down from some North-Pole-Certified unimpeachable source, a Nepalese burning bush or some guy at Cal Tech who’s stumbled across the Algorithm of Ultimate Insight. What the hell do I even do with it? If I’m right about the other side, I’ll have an elf-wrapped epiphany and promptly go poof, not taking Revelation or anything else, including most importantly, myself, to the nothingness. So I’m good with the Cosmic hide-the-ball. Really. I’m good with it.
This piece appears in the Passager Review.