The Amorphous Party

The gods held another costume party Tuesday last, called on the pretext of celebrating the electoral win by one of their earthly clerics. It was just another in the never-ending parties that the gods hold to pass time. Costumes are of course required because all the gods look somewhat alike. In fact, the costumes are empty, the form shaped only by human ideas.

The neat thing about these parties is that the costumes change with evolution, although there seems to be some disagreement among the gods whether they always existed or are evolving. The party had been called by one of the Christian gods who was wearing an Uncle Sam top hat, gaily decorated with little elephants that were doing tricks driven by a clever computer graphic. Another god was similarly attired but had donkeys on his sleeve that were motionless. He was on his cell talking to Bill Gates.

The host god was trying to explain his growing popularity but some of the other Christian gods were having heated discussions on gay marriage, homosexuality, women in the clergy, abortion and even the theory of evolution. One of the papist gods was arguing against birth control and his diatribe was only interrupted by the arrival of Bacchus with yet another tray of wine.

Off to one side, two gods dressed as Juno and her twin Hera were commenting on the wine spilled on Bacchusí cloak, saying he should settle down and find a wife when a Shiva joined them, suggesting she could arrange something. She knew an up and coming goddess who would be looking for a nice Jewish boy like Bacchus.

The god costumed in white desert robes was nibbling on a few candied dates while trying to explain the difference between a holy war and a crusade to a chap dressed in an Apollo costume, complete with a white beard full of sparkles. Pan came along and started talking about something called oil reserves which began to panic both of them. Fortunately, the god clothed in Chinese garb and carrying a bowl of rice arrived and began reading little gems of wisdom from slips of paper spotted with soy sauce and the confusion ceased.

A buckskin-clad god with an eagle feather in his hair was telling Artemis he had heard about this great hunting ground, one island to the west. The old god dressed in the southwester said heíd be happy to row them across for a couple of pennies if he could do a little fishing while he was there. He had not had a gig since the Athens Olympic Games. They summoned a god with a trident and asked if he could assure them of smooth seas on the morrow to which he agreed if they would toast him with a glass of wine.

The god costumed as Buddha was sitting patiently, smiling, eyes closed, beside Atlas who was still complaining about sore muscles when Dionysus danced by, discreetly slipping Atlas a packet of white powder that was guaranteed to make him forget his aches and pains. Two Christian gods with DEA initials on their costumes appeared with one of Dianaís hounds, hot on Dionysusí trail, all the while arguing the passages in the Old and New Testaments banning drug use.

The three Norse gods who had been grumbling about the lack of hockey on the 3 by 5 meter flat screen television had switched to beer and were now arguing the merits of American versus Canadian football. As they talked two of the costumes morphed between Minnesota Vikings and Edmonton Eskimos, the other into a Dallas Cowboysí cheerleader.

The party was getting rowdy, with Thor tossing thunderbolts at a dart board and Athena matching him shot for shot with straight ash arrows, when there was a banging at the door. At first they thought it was old Zeus complaining about the noise again, but he never knocked. One of the gods moved a cloud aside, revealing a number of costumed characters who asked if they could join the party.

They explained that they too were ideas, but not quite yet on the god level. They were political ideas. Their costumes were not very elaborate, mostly made up of plain colours and spinning word slogans called commercials. They were conservatives, liberals, socialists, communists, capitalists, and one Rastafarian accompanied by variations of these themes which they said were called Parties.

The god dressed as Janus said they could enter so long as they had a sponsor and the Rastafarian left his reefer outside, a non-smoking bylaw having been passed at the last party. In the resulting turmoil the religious gods and political ideas all arranged for sponsorship, except for a couple who said they preferred no religious affiliation. The god in the red suit with a forked tail said, ìWhat the hell, Iíll sponsor them!î, so they were given associate status and joined the party.

The party ended as the Aztec sun god, Huitzilopochtli, who also happened to be the god of war, marked the beginning of another day by edging the morning clouds with rosy pink. The weary revellers would retire right after morning school prayers, wondering what kind of day the people on earth would have.

No doubt the gods would be called upon yet again to perform more wondrous works. But the amorphous gods were limited in what they could do, for all they had was the power of an idea.