"We are what we think/All that we are arises with our thoughts" -Dhammapada

The Scorpio, having warmed to one of his favorite subjects, says, “Well, I have some questions to ask God, if there is one. Like: what do you have to say for yourself about the sick bastards you put on this earth…the child molesters, the murderers, the racists. What about Hitler?”

I stay neutral as he revs up. There is no such thing as a reasonable theological argument with this man. Religion either pisses him off – or he views its’ adherent's activities with amazed amusement. And The Scorpio has definite ideas about dealing with perceived injustice – occasionally in the Tony Soprano range.

He says, “I’m going to ask him or her about them. And then I’m going to say, ‘and if you don’t like the question, then push the button. No, no, I’ll push it myself.’ And then let’s see who’s down at the other end and whether he wants to try crossing the line I’m gonna draw in front of me.”

It’s his old way of dealing with what hurts, although I don't doubt he’d try to stand toe to toe with the devil.

The Scorpio doesn’t see everything in black and white – but some things push him past his limit. He’s attended nearly 60 funerals in a few short years. Some people have died of old age and illness, but some have been young, one died of AIDS, one childhood friend - a suicide…

I put my arms around him and lean my head on his chest. We’ve been talking about his friend’s son. The kid was in trouble…into the life…drugs and the bad stuff. But he died because he acted up at a party and wouldn’t leave. His murderers tortured him, threw him in a dumpster and tried to eliminate the evidence by burning his body. Nobody deserves to die like that. No parent should have to live with that image of their child's last moments for the rest of their life.

“I couldn’t even talk to my friend about his son's death,” he says. “I couldn’t talk to him because the advice I’d have given him would be wrong.”

And this is the crux of his anger. His profession and calling is pulling kids like that out of the fire. He's very good at it. Only there are too many fires burning out of control and he feels more alone every time he puts on that black suit for another funeral. Right or wrong, he’s wondering, if there’s a God, why isn’t there backup?

Another time, when the hurt is not biting so hard, maybe we'll talk about his grandchild and his eyes will clear, his smile will come back, and he’ll put away his quarrel with God. Who, after all, has done at least that much right.