Christ at the Door

(OB1 lamented)

Christ, if you came knocking
At my door another time,
And not so close to death,
I might have answered.
But you've wrapped yourself in
Others' flesh too many times
To force your presence on me.

Without an answer back,
Without an acknowledgment,
You ignored me when
I cried out to you,
When I pled you my case.
Too many times I've splintered
My fists on the unopened door:

There, in the rasp and click
Of mechanical breathing
Machines and suction tubes;
There in charred children's
Flesh and bandaged bodies;
There in parents' anguished looks—
The grief, the pain unfolding.

I've seen enough of you
There, in old bodies, pleading
To be released in death,
To suffer not long
Endless days of nothing
There in wasting forevers
In the prisons of the old;

There, beside dead father's
Corpse, the widow grieving and
The child not touching,
The flesh growing cold,
The anguishing feeling,
The truth of separation:
No more tomorrows of him;

There, in cheap wine mists of
Consciousness clouded clots of
Memories fading
In a green bottle
Sea of forgetfulness:
There is no room in the inn
For the alcohol children;

There, there in a hundred
Deaths' hundred thousand dyings,
Where I have seen your face,
I reached out to them,
I reached out to hold them
Because I saw them crying.

And now I am burned out.
Now I am burned out and dead.
The little left to me—
My specially loved—
You have begun to eat.
And when I cry out to you,
You crucify me with pain.

Once more, from your left hand,
The unfolding question-marks,
The tear-rimmed eyes brimming,
The coming of death,
The silent anguish they
Strain to hold within themselves,
Within their webs of aching.

Thus, god, I am tired.
Thus, god, so goddamned tired:
No resurrecting strength
Is left where fires
Consumed my heart, and
Left cremated ashes in
My flesh, an empty vessel.

Not-So-Original Sin

(OB1 wrote)

Our ancestors in Eden fell
And helped us all go straight to hell
Without the need to give a hoot
About the choice to eat the fruit.

The many billion souls of us
Have never had to make a fuss
About the prodding of the snake:
It is assumed we're on the take.

No Need for a Prime Mover

(OB1 reflects)

I read the words “Prime Mover” this morning, while reading a geographer's thoughts on the Nevada deserts of the Great Basin.

When I think about the universe, when I look around, and think there is no need for a prime mover as an explanation for existence, my experience becomes richer, awesome, alive, fertile. I am a part of a living thing.

If I think there was a prime mover, the universe becomes a thing, and I feel dissociated from it.

Without a prime mover, I can talk to the universe and be heard. I can completely express myself, say anything I want. There is no judgment, only the unfolding present.

My consciousness arises, and my consciousness will fade away.

I look at the beauty of the universe’s existence, watching it flow, from wonder, into wonder.

This is not about reason, nor what has to be, but my experience of what is.

The universe is a great smorgasbord, and though I cannot partake of it all, I am a participant in it.

Behold

(OB1 noticed)

The only proof
for the existence of god
is ignorance.

Q.E.D.

(OB1 thinks)

The truth about all of us
That is only acceptable to some of us
Could exterminate all of us
By an ignorant few of us.

Reality

(The Universe--through OB1--observed)

Things are not what they appear to be;
unless you think they are.

Quantum Effects

(The Universe says)

Welcome to the fish tank.

Going Ape

(OB1 laments)

The truth about all of us
Is only acceptable to some of us.

Occult Practitioners

(OB1, Therapist, wonders)

How many times is therapy
the coward's way out?