If you’ve read any of my posts here (or my books), you know that I’m not a friend of the fellow I call the standard-brand god. This is the “man upstairs” who goes by such names (in alphabetical order) as Allah, El Shaddai, Jehovah, and Yahweh. He’s the guy who’s snoopier than Santa Claus—he knows when we’re sleeping, when we’re awake, when we’ve been bad or good, and what we’re doing in any state of consciousness. At least that’s what his priests and preachers tell us. His holy books were written by men and his stories are told from the male point of view. (But how did Ruth and Esther get in the canon?) He has priests, but no priestesses that I know of, and even the named angels are male. I mean no disrespect to people who honor this god, but he’s just not my kind of deity.
But hark! There is a charming fellow. We all know him. Continue reading “Popeye as Deity by Barbara Ardinger”
Feminism and Religion 