Existence Womb (8)

    
   "Existence Womb (8)"
    
   But how to keep the positive vibes, Miriam pondered; next, remembering the poetic wisdom of Billy Ray Cyrus:  "Life is ups and downs--peaks and valleys."
   Regardless, she could not twerk her way into the electric, vibrant-like peace of total tranquility save through Divine Ascension.  600,000 people a year go missing--never to be found.  A plethora of these from the state of Alaska, where Sarah Palin's breasts bounced deliciously, once full of motherly milk desired by the Republican masses.  The FBI covered up much in Alaska, knowing it cannot defeat the truth or further feed it to most Americans soulwashed by reality television, tranquilizers, and love of greed and obesity.  
   Are these missing people beamed skywards, hijacked into hell, or relieved by a quasi-Rapture done through the labor of Living Saints and Angels saving them from their anguish?
   So, unable to convince her mother for a few bucks for a pack of cigarettes, the quirky brain of the old lady offering:   "Have you ever seen Michael Jordan naked?  He is such a handsome man; plus, he's friends with Bugs Bunny--did you know that?"
   And Miriam went dumpster diving, always waiting and keeping an eye open for God's hidden messages, hoping the Arch-Angel Gabriel would appear in total luminosity and infuse her further with remedy, but wasn't that Raphael's job?  That Arch-Angel armed with healing balm and a Vonnegut-like sense of humor.
   And still, the Sleep Paralysis, every damn night, invading her inviolate adolescence, an almost asexual soul was strange Miriam--a definite mutant upon Terra's magical terrain.  Too, today she had an appointment with Dr. Luke.  How would that go?  All she knew:  She needed some organic tobacco.  Needed to puff away without getting revenge from the Redman.  Had learned and honored the Totems and their symbolic and true meanings, ingesting ALL the wisdom of fools, mystics, and drunken sages.
   
* * * * * * * *
   
   Dr. Luke, sitting scholarly-like in his humble office, gazing over Miriam's medical chart.  He wanted to tell the brave, young girl it was all real.  The alien or angelic war cloaked above our lovely atmosphere.  But how to infuse a teenager with such enlightening remedy?  Then, he remembered his amusement from Buffy the Vampire Slayer--she was just a dumb blonde, yet chosen and justly informed.  So was the Virgin Mary--both of these adolescent girls handed the truth.
   So, would he too grasp courage and feed Miriam the terrific yet terrifying news of it all--or would that further wend her weirdways?