A Heretic's Dream

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 15, 2018

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Submitted: July 15, 2018

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A piece of advice
for the poor soul reading
this 
polished piece of prose
bullshat 
on a hot summer day - 

if you let me just once, 
I'll tell you a story

- but only if you let me,
of course.

I take it by your silence
or the deafening sound, rather,
of your eyeballs scanning the 
words on the screen 
almost haphazardly
like a drunk driver's last Sunday drive:
focused, but without a plan.
Will you crash and burn?
Nah. 
I'll make sure of that.

- but I digress.
My story is long, without consideration
for the average Joe
(or John or Joanne or Jaquan or Janae' or whoever else),
selfishly designed to just
let me speak in the hopes 
that you can somehow absorb everything
I'm trying to convey.

A child was born and child died, 
a deceased fetus floating
peacefully in its skeletal womb.
See it was born two months premature
w/ slanted eyes,
like the almond eyes
on that third grade crush
they see on Facebook from
time to time.

- but I digress. 
The child died when the mom did, 
but the thing is, she was resurrected. 
Father, Son, Holy Spirit. 
The Blessed Trinity that lives
in all of us 
(whether you know it or not)
lived in this woman. 

The Doctrine states
that this is 
One in Three
without the
Three in One
package deal,
a reverse-reverse psychology. 
Like a broken nuclear family
sucked into conservative bliss,
- sure the wife and kid is crucial,
don't get me wrong -
but the husband - the father - 
rules all. 
Sometimes, this package
(sent through Amazon Prime, of course)
is beat up - or it isn't what the
customer wanted
or thought he wanted. 
Dude can either take it back
or just keep in the storage closet,
growing dust and becoming cluttered - 
but still there,
like that brain tumor that killed my uncle.

- but I digress. 
Anyways....
this kid, this mom, this package deal,
it's a big thing. 
The mom - 
this particular mom -
she lost the 'son addition' 
a long time ago, you see? 
And so all she had was
this husband and wife
concept, 
a true yin/yang,
a true day/night,
a true good/evil.
There was a point
where she didn't know which was which.
The baby grew, and she grew.
But she got misconstrued.
Her arms were outstretched to the
sky, looking for love, 
but insults were hurled 
and life gave sour lemons 
wrapped carefully 
like a failed Christmas present.
But was it the Father or God as a whole?
Or was it Father God
or Father Time
or Abba Father
or Jehovah Shalom
or Allah
or even goddamn Ahura Mazda
cause there was no telling whether or not
those books were for study
or just questioning curiosity 
(Allah' akbar, just in case).
Which religion is right? 
Which God is real?
Which God is right?

- fuck. I digress. 
This is becoming more excessive
than God's persistence
in the murder of the firstborn,
Ishmael or Isaac,
(whichever version you like best). 
Being accustomed to
your environment 
can lead to 
unholy proportions, you know. - 

The child died when the mom died. 
That's what we were talking about right? 
 right.
The Mom lost her mind, not having the package deal.
She threw away the Son, and 
the Father drowned in 
hard liquor. 
The Holy Spirit is just
a wave, 
a flowing wave of air,
manifested in the form
of her cigarette addiction. 

Too much of a good thing is a bad thing.
Too much nicotine is a calculated mistake.
The smokey taste, the texture of the paper,
The smell of Newport entering the lungs,
Permeating everything it touched,
Blackened the lungs and clogged the arteries.
Is this sin? Is this sin? Is this sin?
Is death a sin? 
Anyone? 
No?

- moving on. 
Watching a parent have a heart attack 
isn't something you'd like to picture. 
Watching a parent have a heart attack
was something the child had to live with.
Guilt surrounded them like
an itchy wool blanket, and
the grief punched them 
in the face like a middle school bully.
The child couldn't take the pain,
and death was as swift
for the child
as it was 
for the mother. 
But the Mom is a phoenix,
and her child a mere hatchling.

The Doctrine says
that she was reborn,
that she was washed clean
like a newborn babe
from the womb. 
The Doctrine says
that she was free. 
The Doctrine says
that she was finally at peace.

The child died,
the Father and Holy Spirit
slipping away from their fingers
like the mother's last breath. 
But the son was still there,
neglected, but still there. 

The son is the Son and the Son was of God and the Son is
the Son is
the Son is!
He is! He is! He is! He is!

Don't you get it?!
He!
It is Him?
But who is Him?

Any guesses?
Don't look at me like that; this isn't the first time epiphany struck the frontal lobe.

The child.
We are our own Gods. Our own destiny.
The closest step to finding God is to find the self.
The Child delivered Himself from evil,
and snatched the wicked away from His heart.
He performed miracles and touched lives and prayed to God, to Himself, to the Sky.

What have we learned today?
That you can stand over the world and scream at the 
the mountains powered by mustard seeds
(the secret to Mom's macaroni and cheese)
and tell them to fuck off!

Fuck off, cancer! Fuck off, tobacco!
Fuck off, self hate! Fuck off!
Jesus Loves Me This I Know For I Fucking Love Myself!

I have a dream that one day,
YHWH and Beelzebub shake hands 
and admit that they were both wrong!
I have a dream that one day,
Simon Peter kisses PBUH on the foot in reverence!
I have a dream that one day,
a Christian and a Muslim will get married 
and no one blinks an eye!
I have a dream that one day,
a Buddhist has a one night stand with a Catholic!
Because we are all our own Gods!
As perfect as we all are,
we are as corrupted just the same!
They make mistakes, too!

- but I digress, 
The alarm is going off.
Thank you for letting me 
tell my story to you
on such short notice.
Get some sleep.
Amen.
 


© Copyright 2018 Kalaide Cades. All rights reserved.

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