the function
the knowledge
the development
the awakening
human being of the universe.

history
justice
love
god
the method
the concepts
the human alcohol.

the animal
the uniforms
the fact
the substance.

the good ones
the false people
the ventilator
the safe rotation predetermined by the universe.

a fish
a whale
the surface
the circuit
the number.

the good people
the pure
the unspiritual instruction.

the zombie
the jesus
the birth of the papa of the sky
our new age of the inoperative man.

the enormous game
the audio one
the marks of the attraction.

the truth
the servant
the attention with perspective
the instrument of the development
the eyes of the humanity.

the commerce of god
the god of the mind
god is the alcohol
the scare of the age.

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spirituality is a vibrant awakening consciousness
a deep and present awareness of ourselves
of everyone and everything around us
it’s knowing that our words and our actions matter
even when no one hears and no one sees
it’s listening to the heart and the mind and the body
to moon stars sun and trees
to wind fire rain and earth
to animals and plants
to dreams and daydreams
to grief and anger and hunger and sex
to all of the feelings we’ve been told not to have
and all of the thoughts we’ve been taught not to think
in the right balance
in the right time.

spirituality demands critical thinking
it requires curiosity
a desire to know what’s real
a willingness to strip off conditioned patterns of perception and habit and belief
layer by layer
regardless of personal cost
because otherwise
truth and truthfulness are lost.

spirituality is facing the mysteries of life and death
without hiding from questions that cannot be answered
and without the comfort of tall tales passed down through a million dark nights
it’s knowing that we are not alone
because we’re all here together
and it’s all up to us
together.

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god is a school bus full of strangers
a sixty on the test
a dad who’s always pissed
a mom with scar tissue.

god is a prison guard with rheumatic fever
a flying squirrel in a cage
a deformed colt in a field
a member of the john birch society.

god still lives with his parents
he fights with his brother over pigs
drives a milk truck on saturday to make ends meet
makes me wear an athletic supporter
watches hee-haw and listens to country music
on the radio.

god has a workshop in the basement
he picks the dump and smokes white owls
takes his teeth out when he eats
makes me cry in front of the whole class
stands in our driveway and tells my dad
he’s no good.

god wants to punish me for something I didn’t do.

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I’m in a wild place
squatting naked next to a lake
no other people around
maybe an animal or two
it’s peaceful here
I see my reflection in the water
the face looks cro-magnon
or perhaps neanderthal
but I feel fully conscious
it’s an experience of
wholeness and awe
wonder and peace
maybe my first visit to earth
in a human-like body.

priest

pre-columbian central america
I lead and perform religious rituals
human sacrifice
vivisections
I inflict terrible agonizing physical pain on others
I perform these cruel acts without malice
but also without compassion
motivated by a religious conviction so deep
that it completely disconnects me
from the reality of the suffering I cause.

heretic

europe
middle ages
my head is being held underwater
some religious authority
is attempting to force me to admit something
or perhaps recant or repent some blasphemy
next
I’m in the woods
hung upside down from a tree by my left foot
as punishment
for contradicting the established order
it’s a form of crucifixion.

zealot

europe
1600s
I’m a member of a religious sect that practices self-injury
I drip hot candle wax on my back
I cut myself because the pain “brings me closer to god”
I shove hot pepper up my nose
to make myself sneeze
“to get the devil out”
I allow myself to be mock crucified
when I’m 24 I hang myself “to be with god”
I’m found hanging
from a wooden beam in one of the rooms of the monastery
I am dead
the walls and floors are made of stone.

simpleton

colonial new england
I’m mentally impaired
my neck and hands have been locked in wooden stocks
as punishment for looking at a pretty young girl
my consciousness is primitive
I feel bewildered most of the time
but I find comfort and solace
in a direct experience of nature
standing in a meadow
awes me
calms me
fills me with peace
I have no concept of why I’m being punished
but I have no ill feeling toward anyone about it either.

diplomat

japan
late 1800s
I’m a japanese diplomat
working to open my country to contact with the west
I want to bring the two halves
east and west
together
I want to build a bridge between
old ways and new ways
I hope to be
an ambassador to the future.

assassin

chicago
1920s
a dark alley at night
I’m an enforcer for the mob
a tough guy
a hit man
but this time
someone’s put a hit on me
the nose of a revolver
kisses the skin behind my left ear
someone pulls the trigger
bye bye.

(PDF version)

wishing everyone in line ahead of me
would hurry up and keep it short
as I tried to think of anything I’d done that was
so horrible
that I should be required to kneel
in a dark creepy booth
and tell
some spooky faceless stranger behind a screen
all about it
while dad waited out in the car.

for some reason
the requirement to confess wrongdoing
to spooky faceless strangers
in dark creepy booths
didn’t apply to my dad.

despite my best efforts to come up with
an honest list of sins
well
I almost never had anything to say
I mean
I really tried to be a good kid
follow all the rules
get along with everybody
don’t lie
and stay outta trouble
but I knew I wasn’t supposed to walk
into the confessional booth
and say
I hadn’t done anything wrong
the priests had made it very clear
that we were all loaded up with
sins from birth
even little kids like me
so I knew I had to come up with something.

the first few lines were easy
right outta the book
bless me father I have sinned
then
it’s been
(fill in random period of time in weeks months or years)
since my last confession
which would always lead to a bunch of questions from the priest
like
why has it been so long since your last confession
and
how often do you attend mass
followed by some stern rebuking
when I didn’t have the right answers
which I never did
but I knew I wasn’t responsible for any of that
cause I was only a kid
it wasn’t like I could
drive myself to church a couple of times a week
for mass and confession
and I knew I wasn’t supposed to talk with anyone about
what my life was like at home
so I usually made up some stuff I supposedly did wrong
to fill up the rest of the confession time
and get myself out of there in one piece
until the next random confession.

I always figured that making stuff up was
probably a sin too
but it sure felt a lot safer
than going in there with nothing.

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