We forgot what our god is for.
But I can tell you who remembers because I remember.
This is a most important lesson I’m about to teach you:
When life happens to you. What happens to you and how you handle it. When you fail. When things fail that you don’t want. There’s a whole world of things. And I mean you. And you don’t want. That’s not a pleasant. And I don’t think anybody has been doing it right. When you’re too quick to jump to words and to give up on what god had planned before the words, when there was a lot more to your problems than words.
We’re talking about our biggest, darkest demons here. Our fears. Our fears and their fears are so big right now yet they’re not at all. Our worst fears and their fears are the things that…look, we’re afraid of our. We’re afraid to take in. We’re afraid to put a face to the fear and to admit that there is fear lurking underneath the blankets. We’re afraid to let it out. And when we don’t. When we’re afraid to do. When we don’t face our heart. When we’re afraid to say. When we’re afraid of what. When we’re afraid to truth. When we don’t at all.
And everything has been caught. Fallen into it.
So I’ve been fighting. Fighting for you, for future, for faith. You’ve had your challenges from, right? It’s been there. You’ve had your demons and dark things inside. And I’ve had my own demons and dark things inside. And you’re hearing how to keep that inside as much as you’re hearing how not to do it.
We could be living in the kingdom of the gods, if we all prayed together forever. But we don’t. We can’t. In fact, we’re so scared of the wrong things and we’re in the kingdom of the demons. The demons have got us by the throat and they’ve got you by the throat. They’ve got you right. We’re in a kingdom. We’re in a kingdom of dark, dark joy.
Our Firearms, Who send many to heaven,
Hallowed be Thy Names;
Our hands be wrung,
The N.R.A.’s will be done
in America as it is in Congress.
Give us this day our daily dead,
and send thoughts and prayers,
as we fill with holes those who trespass against us,
and lead us not into solutions,
but deliver us from stray bullets.
And who was Joshua anyway but a common man come to tell the common man how to get by in a world like this?
This here world built on rich men’s dreams in rich men’s eyes for rich men’s bodies.
You see, a rich man ain’t got to love nothing. Only thing he’s got to do is open his purse and say the word.
Hell, sometimes it’s better if he don’t say any words a’tall, just hush it up all quiet-like so there ain’t no trail, ain’t no truth to the matter.
But a poor man’s got to love everything to get by in a world like this, a world he’s set to inherit.
Got to love that what itint fair.
Got to love that what puts him down.
Got to love that what hates him just for watching the same goddamn blue sky.
Got to love that what hates.
Got to love
that what hates.
Got to love murder by the ruling class, stuck through with a handful of rusty nails, up on some old dirty wood, bleeding out over all creation just so the other poor folk’ll keep in mind: all your days you got to love that what hates you ‘til this here world sets you free at last, free at last.
Bits of broken tombstone surround the tree of life, jagged little reminders that all monuments someday crack and crumble.
A speck-like spider falls from the tree of life onto my pale hand. Before it has a chance to find its own way home, I send it to the land of wet grasses on a gust of self-generated wind. I have never cared for spiders, however minuscule.
I count no less than twenty shards of gravestone and wonder if the tree of life is to blame. The tree of life, grown so large from all the now-quiet bodies if hovers over while under the bone-infested ground, the roots of life seek water.
I spy no faces upon the tree of life’s cracked and ornery skin. I only spy black ants and sick-yellow lichens.
Are the faces then underground with the roots or perhaps higher up on the trunk, well above eye-level, spied only by wandering drones or a telescoping eye from a nearby window? Are the faces then in the branches, obscured by oblique leaves?
Perhaps the tree of life has no faces at all…
Perhaps the tree of life is just a dis-envisaged voice repeating so slowly, “So happy now you’ve gone.”