H,
I was thinking, this past
week, of those former years of ours. The ones we do not like to bring up
anymore. There is the canonized version of our earlier events, which may or may
not be cliche, the one just after the glorious era of discovering true
spirituality, where we suffered in the doldrums of everyday life. That age has
not passed.
Everyday life is what makes
up most of the hours of our present existence. When we were young and
incredibly stupid, we thought we could leave in euphoria forever and we forgot,
perhaps still forget, that it is called that because it is uncommon and exists
in patches. We have robbed ourselves of the greater fruit of the ordinary life
and become so empty and so estranged because we keep looking for our drug of
choice: feeling for the highest life in the lowest point of the human story,
grasping for untrue straws instead of drowning in the living waters for the
soul and finding orgasmic virtue more attractive than budding character.
I was thinking of the past
this week and it occurred that right here, right now is the only call that God
ever makes of us. We have long since despaired of the prosperity message (it
does nothing for the inner man), grown weary of the prophetic age (we hear in
part and we see in part), fallen short of the love is all we need brigade (hope
and faith will still get us there) and been truly let down by the figure in the
bright lights of an imagined future when we set the earth on its knees and sit
on plastic thrones (we will still be so empty, so estranged).
What is left then, soul
brother and artificer?
Well, everything else. God.
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