Monday, November 29, 2010

Saturday, November 27, 2010

"He clapped His hands, and the thunders rolled..."

Slacktivist is one of my favorite blogs, his Left Behind take down is essential reading, and this post has proved unexpectedly lovely. This is one of the few times you'll want to read the comments, plenty of wonderful poems and songs and stories being shared. Including the poem in the previous post, which is where I found it.

One of the comments wondered if this sharing was a kind of worship. I think it is. It's beautiful how humans will build communities, even online ones, to connect. To say, "I was here, this is what I saw." Art in every form is the only kind of divinity I'll ever really fully believe in. Or even more accurately, the only kind I'll ever fully trust. We can look to a promise and find it empty, but when we look at each other and tell stories we've done something real, and amazing. In an odd way stories can be the realest things we'll ever know.

"Untitled" by Cary Bleasdale

If they did religion right,
And I mean, did it right when they started the whole thing off.
And if there was a God.

We wouldn’t have words
To describe the sacred mystery
Of transubstantiation
Instead, we’d have a word to describe
The transformation of the blessed news
That we’re all, sorta, kinda, beautiful
Into the real cessation
Of all the stupid shit we do.
And that word, and that world
Would be unsubstantiated by the experience
And essence of suffering because the only true
Phrase in all the bible is ‘vale of tears,’
Which is the only part of the whole damn thing
That should’ve been written by William Shakespeare.
And if there was a God,
there would be a word for the feeling
Of waking up next to your lover and staring up
At your cheap, leaking, plaster ceiling and knowing
In that moment that everything’s gonna be alright
This morning.
And if there was a God,
He would tell us the word for being young and broke
With holes in your pants and bumming your smokes
For loving the sunshine and dirty jokes
And for finding your god in a rum and coke
Or maybe in a church, the sort of church they don’t make anymore
With no stained glass in the windows and a hole in the floor
Where they raise your spirits, where they raise their voices
Where they raise the roof,
And the love in your blood is ninety proof
And you can still taste the sins from the night before
But you had a good time, and that’s alright,
Because if there is a God, he’s the sort of God
Who helps drunks cross the street against the light.
And if there was a God, you could call Jesus at ten AM
On a Tuesday morning and he’d pick up the phone and tell you
All sorts of things, about stars and trees, and his brand new shoes
And you could talk to Jesus and tell him that really funny joke
About the three old nuns who walk in on the pope
And he’d tell you the one about the Irishman
And when you asked him if he’s a baseball fan
He’ll put Babe Ruth on the phone. Just for you.
And just before he’d hang up, he’d say
Hey, you’re beautiful. And I love you.
And it wouldn’t make it ok
But you’d be able to get out of bed
And that is worth a prayer.
And if there is a God, it’s inspiration
And if there is a saving grace, it’s perspiration,
And if there is something that makes me believe in god,
It’s fornication.
But good fornication, the kind of fornication you have on your kitchen floor
Because you both woke up thirsty at three am and wound up
Fornicating
In a perfect pool of moonlight that may
Or may not, have been sent by God.
And if there is a God.
I don’t think he watches.

Sunday, November 14, 2010