when I write, I cast a line for God.

God would not give me all of this hope to choke on.
my death anxiety has stilled because every time death is mentioned I do not believe it’s real.
death will not come for me.
not in the way it comes for everyone else.
God will reveal the truth to me and finally, finally, I will understand how my joints fit into one another and how it is not cruel for God to flush the population of the planet down His toilet bowl.
there is nothing here that will tell me the truth.
God, God, God, one day God will stop the overflow of deceit by omission.
tell me. tell me, God!
tell me.
tell me why you boil me until my flesh is tender but do not consume me.
tell me why you pump fog into my skull until I am too tired to move.
tell me why you demand I follow you when you are nowhere in sight.
damn it. damn it. damn it.
how do I know the difference between my fear and your concern?
take it away. take it away. please, God.
take my fear away before I die.

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“So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

I thought you knew that God couldn’t be pinned down. You’ve said so many times that his nature is incomprehensible. Why do you tell me we can’t know the concrete truth, but then, with the same tongue and absolute certainty, tell me I’m wrong? There is no absolute truth. I know you think that’s a logical fallacy. But you ignore every logical fallacy I bring to your attention, and you know why, don’t you? You know it’s because there is no absolute reality. You know that, because even the color red changes from human to human. Even eyesight, depth perception, hearing. I’m deaf in my left ear. I can’t hear the birds chirping in the morning. My best friend is schizophrenic. She texted me the other night about the way the voices seemed different than they usually do — they were alarming when usually they’re calm. How come you hate vanilla ice cream when I love it? How come I care so much about hell when you don’t? How come I’m wrong when I say that truth is relative?

Vanilla ice cream is delicious. There is no absolute truth.

Everything about life is subjective. That is the nature of reality and the beauty of it, too. God will not damn me to hell because he did not reveal the same truth to me that he did to you. God is Abba, Father, Mother, Protector of his/her children in life and in death. He knows where our differences lie. He knows that fear will never be solid ground for my faith, even if it is for you. We aren’t the same.

You know that God is the God of second chances. You know the parable of the Farmer and his workers. He hired men to tend his vineyard, and they worked all day starting in the morning. When afternoon came, he found more men waiting for work, and when he asked them why they were waiting, they said nobody had hired them. So he hired them, and they worked until the end of the day. When the Farmer paid all of the workers the same, the ones who had worked from morning complained. “‘These who were hired last worked only one hour,’ they said, ‘and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day.’ But he answered one of them, ‘I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you.'”
(Matthew 20)

God is in control. He will save some of us now and some of us at the mouth of Death. We will never be penalized for waiting.

I’m waiting for God. All of the faithless are waiting. We cannot be cast into hell for the knowledge that is withheld from us.

The road to truth is dim and slippery and every human being is given a separate route.

‎Saturday, ‎June ‎18, ‎2016, ‏‎10:13:06 PM

I’ve found myself struggling to reach a sense of peace.
I haven’t been content since I was a Christian kid.
Dusk felt fresh and everlasting, and on cold nights
at summer camp I would sit by the fire with my
hands tucked into my sleeves. I thought about how
I would die, but I didn’t think about it the way I
do now. I was Christian, so I was guaranteed heaven
when most of the population wasn’t. And I was so
scared that my focus might shift and my worldview
might blend in with society’s until I became part
of the majority that was destined for hell.
Now that’s me, so I haven’t felt stillness for what
seems like a long time. There’s a restlessness
behind everything. Always waiting for peace to come
but no promise that it ever will, just fear and
the intrinsic knowledge that I’ll never really know
anything for certain. It seems melodramatic, but it
seeps into everything. That’s why it’s all I’ve been
able to write about. It’s all I’m able to feel.

Ezekiel 35:8-9

my passion is that swarm of locusts
from which emerged John the Baptist
with grime in his hair and earth growing
from the tips of his righteous fingers.

I’m lost in it. the wind that beat against
the mountain on whose crest Elijah stood
to listen for the still small voice of God.

I want to be filled with something pure.
I was always jealous of the dead boy
laid out on the bed for the prophet Elisha,
unconscious and waiting for the renewing
breath of salvation and life.

the Holy Spirit sounds different to me now
than it did when I was in 6th grade.
now it sounds like the call of a Siren,
imploring, desperate, personal, willing
to make any false claim so that it might
snatch up the remnants of my purpose.

my passion is the rope that binds me
to the mast and I’m the only one whose ears
aren’t plugged up with wax. I know that because
I still hear the Sirens.

and I can’t discern the truth.
do I trust those creatures, do I trust my crewmen,
do I trust the violent seething desperate
yearning that fills my lecherous bones?

I think there might be some hope for me.
that so long as I fight to identify the truth,
it cannot be used against me.

my passion is a harlot like Rahab, a grieving
wanderer like Jeremiah, innocent like Ruth
and bloodthirsty like King David.
I’ve asked God for wisdom and he denied
it to me. give me my hundreds of concubines.
give me my desperation and my burning lust
for my same sex. give me bloody battlefields and
corrupted temples and slavery upon slavery upon
slavery. give me Samson’s jawbone dagger and
a dead concubine divided into twelve pieces and
the burning remains of Sodom and Gomorrah and then
show me where God is found in all of that.

what I know

I don’t know a lot of things, like

whether Jesus really existed or whether Christianity is the only true religion or whether

I really ever believed in God or whether

he will let me go

 

but I know that I prayed

for my grandfather’s salvation for my entire life

and I know that he got cancer

and shot himself earlier this year

 

I know that people existed

before Christianity, and

when you ask a Christian where those people are going

they’ll tell you it’s in God’s hands and that he is a righteous judge

 

I know that the worth of a Christian

is nothing more or less than the worth of anyone else

but, somehow, they are worthy of eternal bliss

and everyone else is damned

 

I know I stayed up all night on my knees asking for answers

asking God why my friends would suffer and I would not

asking why Jesus bled and died but there are still more people going to hell

than every star in the celestial sphere

 

I know that I will never be able to have children

for fear that my inability to know all answers

could damn them to hell, because

apparently

God only

saves some of us.

Make me into a plant.

I want to fall away so badly. I want to fall away if falling away means letting go of something that is slowly eating me away. But I can’t, because I am so fucking scared of entering unfamiliar territory. I’m not prepared to completely let go of something that was the foundation of my childhood, my life, and my identity. People think I’m petty because I can’t let go of a childish way of thinking. Here’s the problem: I didn’t just have a Christian family and I didn’t just call myself Christian. I based everything that I was and everything that I believed in off of Christianity. I don’t know how to let go of that without falling apart and dissolving into fear. All I want is for a Christian, or God, or myself, to tell me that I’m going to be okay. That I can refuse to follow God without being threatened with eternal damnation. Christians say shit like, “Yeah, you can leave God,” but it’s sarcastic, and the subtext is that if I do choose to leave God I will go to Hell and face eternal torture. It’s like when teachers say, “Yeah, you can go to the bathroom if you want,” but they say it in a tone that implies that just because you CAN go to the bathroom doesn’t mean you won’t get a referral. I know I CAN fall away, but I don’t want to go to Hell, don’t you see? And I can’t follow a God who sends people there. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. It’s fucking ridiculous. I can’t go anywhere. All I want is to stop being afraid. But everything is scary. Christianity is scary, non-Christianity is scary, not having any answers is scary. I just want someone to tell me it’s going to be okay. But nobody can tell me that. God can’t tell me that, even, because if I’m not damned, others are damned. I want nonexistence. Not death, not an afterlife — I want the erasure of my existence as a human being. I want to be a plant. Make me a fucking plant. Let me know I won’t go to hell just for trying to find myself.

Disquietude

Genesis 1:2

“And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”

 

tell me what went through the mind of God

when he sparked the flames underfoot and

spread a film of damnation

over our existence

tell me why I have to remember

eternal destruction

is waiting for me

every time I watch raindrops square dance

across the pavement

tell me why when I love to be alive

I only break down again because

the day of judgment awaits me on the other side

 

and I was born

only to die in premonition —

acknowledgment of

how real, how dark

all of this is