Thoughts on Spirit

A benevolent dictator, who knows all and controls all, and yet somehow knows nothing and controls nothing. When I was younger, it was comforting perhaps, and even now in adulthood, it is a resort I still cling to when I am terrified or adrift. But I don't truly believe in him, not that way, not really.

I have eaten perhaps one too many of the fruit that have fallen from this fenced off tree, and now I see. Too much? Enough to doubt, enough to know I am completely and utterly naked.

And I'm fine with that.

And that's a lie.

But the idea of spirit exists, in part because i desperately want it to be real, and in part because of humanity. Because of beauty, and art, and yes, even evil, this endless river that flows through history and individuals the same. At different speeds and different levels of consciousness, but there. In the unknowable reaches of our universe, down to the breath I take even now, there is a current, a 'something' there.

The breath of god? I don't claim to know or name it. But i feel it, or I want to, and so I do. Its manifestation is so different in each of us, in that whoever or whatever we call god is shifted as through a prism, through our ideas and experience and somehow becomes personal and real. This invisible idea, bent through a glass, exploding into a shifting exuberance of color onto the walls of our lives.

Is this 'belief'? I don't know. Certainly not in the way it once was, but I no longer find fear in the uncertainty. The doubt is my comfort, the ability to voice something as completely unknowable AND ACCEPT IT as such is strangely comforting.

I dislike the word 'agnostic' as it connotes an arrogance in its denial of truth, somehow that to KNOW you can never know makes one superior. I am something like a spiritual agnostic, not an intellectual one. I don't believe that spirit and faith can be intellectualized, and the study of theology bores me, an endless debate over things that have little or merely invented cosmic meaning, listings of things we must get right or wrong to be embraced at the end by some being who holds us all. This I cannot subscribe to.

I don't know god, but I know spirit, if to feel is to know.

I feel god in the swelling music of a great film, or even a bad film. In tears shed over the pages of a novel, or the delight of my infant son smiling at me in pure joy, my wife curling into my back asleep in the night.

I feel god when I look up at a waterfall, or stand under one. The beauty of this world, this universe entire, in all its terrifying vast darkness makes me believe that we are not alone, that the spirit knows we are here and knows who we are.

But what if this spirit IS us, the same force that made us crawl from the mud, walking, changing, learning, and adapting over millennia until we are as we are now? It is here and we have consumed it, created it, a rushing river flowing out of us? Can we be only vessels or can we be the source?

There are things in us that separate, that cause the river to cease, the spirit to dry up and disappear. Through tributaries this water tries always to flow, and we are the means to stifle its course or let it wash us away.

Our lives are not our own. Our breadth of feeling correlates directly to our level of connection. This is the breath of god connecting, breathed into the first of us and disappeared.

The Architect of humanity. His last breath was perhaps the one that gave us life.

 

In essence maybe we are the evolution of god, in that we are infused with his figurative breath? 

As god breathed into us and we awoke so then did he pass away and WE now are gods breath in the universe, capable of life or death and culpable of the same. It is OUR words that direct the flow, the breath, our lives. WE are the word and breath now in this place, gods every one.

Poems that will dazzle you.

I

Sometimes I wish that I could be
just as pretty as...
And fly about the heavens
raining happy tears of joy
And then I wear the silken dress
soft as the eyelashes of unicorns
and play
between the cloud sites
whistling all the way
and wishing you were here
shirtless and sweaty
digging me a hole(?)
and then talking about numbers
because you know how when you talk about numbers
it really turns me on.
And then you will dig more holes and
Get so tired and even more sweaty
That bugs will stick to you and you will
Smell worse than I thought.
Then I will place you gently in a wheelbarrow.
 


II

I pulled a dozen from you
Faceless little
Beasts
They shouted, give us back our cheese
But I kept their cheese
Like I kept your girlfriend.

 

III


Poles gold
Pesto
Poles hold lights high
Do you? 
The dark like milk
I hope your orbs
Your orbs
I always think about your orbs. 
And your vagina. 


IV

Resurrecting the dead is as easy
As digging them out
Brushing dust from open mouths
Tying strings to arms
Parade them like puppets
They always wanted to live forever
Really what's changed. 


V

I am the pharaoh
Sandstone and sunlight
For the viewing pleasure
of the masses
in this life and the next.
I am in red, and obese. 
Dangerously obese and alone. 
The sad pharaoh. 
Sand and light. 


VI

Blow me down
you could
like a flower when you appear like that, 2F
Nude
Red and sweaty,
Impossible to get a word in edgewise
I hope you realize
in this public corridor as
you scream and scream
bloodshot and nested hair
that the children from apartment 2D watch with no longer wide eyes
because you do this so often
this nudity and screaming
I sometimes think you have it in for me
that one day i wont wake at all
you will see to that
Please miss
go back inside
put on a robe 


VII

in wondering where you went
So angry scattered beads across the kitchen floor
Children huddled hiding in the playhouse across the yard
Uncertain
Crying
This unsettling screaming does no one good least of all you
And the children crying terrified
But big sister scooped them up and shepherded them out
Even through her terror still she was the adult
As we screamed and shouted
Throwing smashing
And then I go to 'rescue' them from us
And with breaking heart I still treat them in anger still
Because I'm still angry at you and me for this
They did nothing to deserve being this fearful
And we did nothing to justify this behaviour
Everyone is bad parents 

 

VIII

Build it, lego
Blocks like water. 
Tear it down
In buckets all the pieces
Scattered
Scatter
Pieces 

IX

The off brand theatre
Knockoff
Talk to c list stars
Who cares
Your interviewing skills are tepid at best
The films the same though
The warnings to turn off cell phones are laughable
They have no money or imagination
Except that they haven't sold out
So that's something
And the film is the same
So it's more about brand loyalty and class for us
I want it to be on brand because of polish
But it's more money
I want the polish
And I pay it almost gladly
Give me the polish
More polish
Until it gleams 

Take my money. 

 
 X
 
 They run the boardwalks
 Past raging chasm
 Up then down again
 For innumerable lifeless images scattered once then lost. 
 
 Forgotten keepsakes
 Trading so quickly eternity
 For air conditioned car
 
 
 
 
 
 XI
The path once straight became a darkened maze
Slowly though so when finally I raised tired eyes found only darkness in its stead
I wail and beat these bloodied hands on unyielding branches stone.