Why does the Psalmist's cry, "No more oppression!" sound oppressive? Isn't wine created from pressing the grapes?
“I am used to making ink from my own blood.” - Abdulla Pashew I sighed with relief when evil passed by unaware of its existence while mechanisms for bringing goodness began to turn with the first bird call of the morning to raise the sun. Remaining anonymous carries ferocity yet dancing unknown steps for something calls the poets to liberate pens and letters onto pages stained with the marks of history.
Giver of Life and Land, Who demands our obedience Against the evil ways of destruction Of the prior inhabitants, we wonder If the land and what we own Is really ours, or perhaps our very Thinking that it is becomes the Path to our own destruction And folly which you warned us Against. Make us mindful and Aware so as to give. Amen.
God of kings and queens, of pontiffs and presidents, of duly-elected and dictated, who changes those at the top to fill the pages of history books, turn the flow of authority so the multitude no longer need to resist to survive. Amen.
The Golden Rule presents itself first followed by all those things, yes, things, that create human division between sects and castes and classes and circles. Discourses on inequality and the tricks played by those who attempt to make us believe in the banality of wealth divert those already ignorant of Divine ways. Everyone searches for their hidden motives of sacrifice preparing for a moving day to Easy Street which never arrives on individual demand. Legends fall into trouble once again barely able to keep us awake through the drip of words leaking from books read in one sitting of possibility madness. Peaceful creation waits for the hubbub to waste away into convention and tradition before appearing and glowing like the sliver of the month's new moon.
Between hope and sorrow found in spirituals played in minor keys dwells a note releasing the captives into a sweet place of freedom. The doe keeps her head down eating the sweet and desired delicacies from neighborhood flower beds while the owners sleep the sleep of the dead. A return to correct ways of living postponed by a prodigal display of fragile members demanding an accounting of the lost ages lives only in the dreams of beggars.
As you began the conversation long ago, Divine, speak us into being once again, for the self-made gods have declared and said who can and who cannot speak in this world at this time and in this place. Amen.
Proximity to power in unlikely places calls on Lady Luck to provide Get Out of Jail Free Cards to those who believe that with enough faith the healing of the nations can occur along dusty red dirt roads & people who feel the power of the heel can empty themselves of the piss & shit created by ingesting the mess from above in the hope that the powerlessness of broken-winged butterflies transforms the small narratives and pig stories & call upon God to become bigger & more possible thus liberating rich fools & poor diggers of soil into the question: Who is fighting for what?
Spring flowers do not fear stepping out; unfolding to include all of the arrayed light. Yes, it is okay to extend the covenant of living to reach folks carrying the heavy stuff placed in their arms by the hopers of the gospel of help. A good conversation where words do surgery teaches me to prepare my inner child's voice to expand the prophetic imagination. Channeled anger resists truth-telling accountable to no one in a responsible position with any power over who is more exceptional in providing charity to those who know no justice. All people color when leading the march to eliminate silence as a standard of perfection. So pick your own assortment of phrases that will help you resist isolation from the practice of calling out and bringing nothing in except another challenge to hope that others will take care of the self while delivering gifts of care to the community.
In every generation beauty and truth call one or two persons to join the circle of the courageous who stand on the straight line to death bending that long inevitable way across the universe into an arc towards justice.