beloved, I need to tell you that god can speak your language
I need to tell you that angels have better things to do than keeping score
that you are no less holy piss drunk
in pissed streets, in sweaty sheets
than you are in Sunday parking lots
or pews or potlucks or thoughts and prayers
I need to tell you that god cannot be contained, understood, jailed, or molded within pages of books
or lines of poems
for gods sake throw away this poem
I need to tell you that any spiritual leadership worth it’s pillars of salt
comes with permission to throw their words in the trash whenever you see fit
vessels are content to sit on a shelf until there is water to pour
please beloved, throw this in the trash
and if your heart aches you can smooth out the pages
words can only be made better by the creasing
I don’t think you’re a ‘holy troublemaker’. I believe that individual pragmatic thinking is the hallmark of one who is alive. Blind beliefs and the inability to hear anything else is a mental disease. It limits us.
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