Horse: In Hinduism, the tenth incarnation of Vishnu is a white horse, Kalki. It has not yet happened. Nine incarnations have happened; the tenth is awaited. The tenth will be called Kalki. It will be a white horse, who is to come to judge the world at the end of this yuga, the fourth and the last cycle of one million, eight hundred thousand years in the Hindu concept of the world. He will destroy the wicked, reward the good, and enable Vishnu to create a new world.
It seems the time for Kalki is coming near. Beware of the white horse!
Bull: In ancient Persia, the bull was worshipped as the god who caused the grass to grow. In Greece, the great god Zeus used the guise of a bull to seduce Europa, hoping thereby that his animal transformation would elude his ever-watchful wife, Hera, from detecting his adultery. The followers of Dionysius would kill a bull during midsummer festivals in honor of the great god Zeus.
This Museum of Gods is not just a museum, it shows how human mind has remained retarded. Rather than bringing consciousness to its heights, man has been worshipping all kinds of animals. Even the future, the final incarnation of God in Hinduism, Kalki, is going to be a white horse – not a man, not a buddha. It shows the retardedness, the primitiveness of our intelligence. This museum will be a symbol to the whole world to remind them: “This is what your forefathers have been doing, what you are doing. And you call it religion!”
Before I ask Avirbhava to bring her new acquisitions, two little jokes about these gods.
Late one night, Satan the devil and his partner, Lucifer the monkey, knock on the door of Pope the Polack’s Vatican apartment. The Polack Pope comes to the door with an arm around his best friend, Simon the sheep.
“Good evening, your phoniness,” says the devil, grinning cheekily and fondling his forked tail. “My friend and I were wondering, do you have any midget nuns in your apartment?”
“Certainly not!” snaps back the pope, trying to slam the door.
“Well then, Holy Father,” chuckles the devil, licking the flames of his lips and jamming his pitchfork in the doorway, “do you have any midget nuns living in the Vatican?”
“I don’t know of any,” cries the frightened Pope the Polack.
“Perhaps,” giggles Lucifer, the monkey, swinging from Satan’s pitchfork, “you know of any midget nuns living anywhere?”
“I cannot say,” shouts Pope the Polack, infuriated, “that I know of any midget nuns anywhere at all!” And he grabs Simon the sheep’s crucifix, and waves it wildly under the devil’s nose.
The devil picks up the monkey by the shoulders, lifts him in the air, and shakes him hard.
“You see, you idiot!” shouts Satan. “I told you, you fucked a penguin!”