The miracle is in the inquiry.

Obscurities punctuated by 16 bars of abstract creativity. There is the message and then there is the messenger. The only difference between the two is where they stand. As humans, we do not realize how the message receivers transmogrify the message to fit their realities. Thereby giving god a face and a genitalia that is singular in definition, and in no way is representative of a collective, but further pushes a binary that induces dichotomous thinking. We liberally forget, sometimes, that the one who gave us the message is just as fucked up as the rest of us. Never-the-less, their ability to transcend rules is what attracted us to them in the first place.

There is a history there. A story that has been handed to and eaten by a society that has been conditioned to fear- fear freedom, fear worth, fear sex, fear god. A god that does not have a face or a gender or a sexuality because all of it makes up the concept because the concept is in all things.

Too many times we call this concept love but fail to give a definition that is clear, concise, and digestible. We pretend to understand just what love is and present the world with a syllogism that says: God is everything. Everything is love. Therefore, God is love. Then we spew hate by calling each other black, white, male, female, young, old, fat, ugly, homeless, stupid, rich, and poor. We commit genocide in the classroom by forcing children to conform to a fictitious norm instead of allowing them to explore their truths. We rape women when we take away their rights to choose- marriage, children, career, sexual partners, power, and expression. We castrate men by superimposing manhood with aggression, violence, control, emotional distance, and power. We confine our elders to concentration camps and or make them prisoners in their own homes. We place profits over prophets, indifference over emotions, and money above everything.

That is not love. That is not god. That is not evil. It is human destruction sitting adjacent to insecurities.

People are insecure about everything: how they look, walk, talk, dress, teeth, legs, thighs, stretch marks, shoe size, noses, hair texture, skin color, vaginal openings, penile curves, smell of breath, choice of neighborhood, career path, sexual proclivity, blemishes, pimples, farts. And in those insecurities a false sense of reality and satisfaction is created. An elusive illusion. A market place of disaster and distress that hides, waits for destruction, and smiles when it sees it.

Our existence is no longer about being and experience; it is about collecting and hoarding a materiality that only exists on this plane. When death comes, houses, cars, banks accounts, and closets of clothes are not taken. The empty capsule, that once housed the soul, is lifeless and still. The mouth has been sewn shut and eyes glued together to create a comfort in seeing something still appear to be human. Or the remains are placed in a decorative bottle, after being singed by fire, as if it is waiting on someone to rub it three times.

There is no genie here. Only us. The garden we are supposed to tend, the life forms we are supposed to protect, and the meaning we are supposed to find while being.

Being human is different from a human being. Being human is experience while a human being is existence. One is not higher than the other. People need both. Therefore, we have forgotten how to be because some ones have told us what to become. We are a self-sabotaging species. And I am not sure if we will ever be any different.



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