Torino, Italy has its own entrance to hell in the middle of a broad square in Piazza Statuto. There are other passages to the underworld. There’s a triangle formed by Turin, San Francisco and London, and each is purported to be an access point to the underworld. As a child, I too found the entrance to hell to be a real place, under some bushes across the street from my house. It wasn’t hidden. It wasn’t a place we feared. It wasn’t guarded by evil fallen angels or scary gargoyles. It was where we went to meet with Gerrymønd, a toad-like being who smoked a hookah and hoarded crystal decanters…
The new American values can be measured in glassware and plastic pill bottles it can be measured in addictions and the drive-thru wait and elastic waistbands it can be measured in empty seats in synagogues and bare wooden pews in the slippery acceptance of everything and the moral compass spinning as we seek our own true north. The finite are cursed with endless appetites as we bow to masters of our own making. I have found the entrance to Hell and it is within. I have found the entrance to Heaven and it is without. Wanna go to a movie?