God is not Slack
My baptism was illegitimate. I neither screamed nor held my breath. Old photos report back a wall of ornate Victorian dresses and colorful priestly vestments under which the man authority swam. No matter the pageantry, the chill of spiritual thinness failed me thermally. Yet the angels would cloth my shivering immodesty with their wings so all that remained of my exposure were darting eyes. I knew nothing and was nothing. And this was a perfect opening for the side winder to draw near with promises without ritual. However, an ancient smoke of incense and cedar wood offended the serpent's eyes to the point of spiraling retreat. Though no visage or figure presented itself, a voice walked before and after me as a guard. Try as I may, the glory could not be compelled to sit at my table. It refused my bread, but left me with a cheek kiss and a palm in my hand. All the day long I would try to summon back the weight of this righteousness. When my petitions rang hollow, I afflicted my dinner plate with a sparse helping of lentils. Perhaps the Holy Ghost would reward my theatrics. Then I stood on my head to initiate even the slightest disorientation. The analytical mind needs to be disarmed against the opening of mystic channels. Though I managed a dizzy spell, nothing more came it. To my right are bands of opportunists with fangs. To my left are meandering nomads braving nihilistic desert sands. So my head naturally tilts upward for the last refuge. My hear longs to hear the trumpet blast we are shammed into downplaying. Set your feet upon the earth as you did before they put you to a tree. Return in the fullness of olive wine and palm oil. The candle wicks are high and the wax is low. Impart to us fire and light. Physical charms of visual blessedness, "Get thee hence." Rational flourishes of skilled rhetoricians, "Get thee hence." Great opulence that shame sultans, I say for a third time, "Get thee hence." If there be any water, what forbids me? Make it right, find me a long river, and make it right. Chosen before my first exhale, the breath in was an oath to the hand that makes everything. Before the full moon will I worship his power. Under the blazing sun, will I extol his perfect name. At the draw of dusk, will I rejoice in his mercy. All things are as they ever were. Nothing has disturbed my soul by reason of novelty. I was told a head of time about events that will shake all things out of their place, and I am not afraid. Only stand now to my left and right. Behind me is past, and before me is time no more.
