Wine of the world!
You who turns buzz cuts into walled gardens, and “doing the dishes” into the ultimate New Zealand bunker,
Help us say yes…
To this ferocious tide, sloshing souls back and forth across the veil, muzzling the mouth of “because,” so we can hear what wants to be said through us: the open-ended question, the intimacy of “not sure,” that “simple immense thing” that dissolves both beings into a field of meditative relating, the church that never crumbles, in a world that never stops shaking.
Unwounded by this wonder, we are half-conquered: an ape on cocaine with mystic refrain, data-dumping lips, spitting chips, desperate for a drop of You.
Refusing to swim in Your light, we tattoo ourselves with trauma, stride with the pride of the uneldered and unsheltered and get terribly busy pasting smiles on the face of orphaned ego on a countdown.
Merciful Witness, thank you for birthing us into this time of tumult and transformation when faces turn to stone or grow a mystical backbone, pushing us to answer, finally and forever, the question that’s haunted us for lifetimes:
Am I designed for crude survival or am I wired for mystery, dangerous to the machine, 10 percent solid, 90% dream?
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