Me, Undone

I came to earth for flesh  To bend this spirit into body   To become the thing   To know the thing   To touch water   This is the mud packed with tiny sticks and berries in my hand bones   The soot, traveling up the cracks of my toes   The spring coils at the base of my neck and the glides of my hips   There are boulders  That will fall into the story of your life   Like rhythms  Meteorites smashing down   On precious land   Each weeping wound   Becomes a port hole for transformation   Pray down over those sacred spaces   Remake yourself   God   again   And  again

I’ve come to realize that there are only two important things in life--faith and freedom. When I speak of faith, I dare not speak of the faith of the blind—the weak who cling to vapid traditions and poorly crafted interpretations as excuses for tyranny. This is not the faith of those who cut themselves and others with Bible verses. This faith cannot be coerced. It is not some secret gift for greedy hands to seize while others perish in the dark. This faith, I’ve carried with me since I was a child. It is the first breath of life. The last breath before passing over. It is everything—you and me, standing in all our painful brilliance, in all our glory. It is light. But faith, my friends, cannot materialize in the absence of freedom—for freedom makes thought possible. When I speak of freedom, I speak not of chains. Freedom is never given nor won. It only inhabits those who listen. I’ve seen far too many zombies deaf to its call. You’ve seen them too. They bear the mark of resignation a...