The Holy Spirit and Honey Creek

Honey Creek, Georgia

I prayed a rosary

Eyes sewn tight

In an austere monastery

A bleached rib cage overhead

Touched on the edges

By pink and blue light

I asked the Holy Spirit

To show itself to me as a bird

Animist being

That it is

I prayed

And felt nothing

Spare me the white dove

That lives on high

Above it all

And separate from us

Give me the black vultures

That rip the flesh of a rabbit

On the side of the road

Truly embodied creatures

Of this fine Earth

Nevertheless,

I prayed

Hollow tears

Strewn down my face

As they often do

With my rosaries

Still I felt nothing

I like to think that these are the tears

Of my ancestors

Who prayed the same prayers

For so long

Their fingers fervently moving along the beads

Asking for respite from their struggles

Their tears automatically flow through me

And stain my cheeks

Their hopes and dreams

Given flesh

Thousands of miles away from the lands they knew

Finding my way

With what they’ve left me

What they’ve left us

Much of it

Is broken into pieces

That grow ever smaller

Contained within

Imaginary fences

I find nothing

Short of pleasant colors

Inside the house of the Lord

Outside, the beauty of the world

Immediately blinds me

I walk behind the church

Or is it a chapel

And see a beautiful cat

Long-haired and black

Ahead of me on the path

I wave

And they run

Hiding in a hedge

Give me seven years of bad luck

And the scent of boxwood

Any day

How much is that white-ass baby Jesus in the gift shop window?

The one with the blue eyes and blonde hair?

Honey Creek

Idles by

Lazily

With gentle whispers

And specks of sunlight

Blessing its flow

I was lured here

By synchronicity

By coincidence

I hope to savor honey on my tongue tonight

My own personal sacrament

The walk back will be long

And I have little water

A first-world pilgrimage

That will end probably

With of all things

A Big Mac, fries

And Coke

Appreciate beauty

Where you find it

In the soft flow of a creek

In the breeze

In the quiet bird calls

In a somber bridge

And maybe

Just maybe

In a large number 1.

I want your heart

Said St. Lutgarde

And Jesus said the same

For a religion whose power is found

In the flesh

In the blood

In the organs

It is so

Disembodied

So distracted by heaven

And by transcendence

To appreciate what we have

Here

I am not interested in your false notions of separation

Between me and nature

Between my body and my spirit and my soul

No trespassing

Said the signs

Even places blessed by the Holy Spirit

Fall prey to our systems

A well-placed logo here

A false border there

I wish I had reason

To cross

To trespass

For a prayer I know

Offers me a cure

Forgiveness flows

Despite your fences

Give us this day our daily bread

And forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive those who trespass against us

Jesus was nailed

To a border

Are we now doomed to exist in a state of ever-shrinking borders?

They’ve only grown tighter around our necks

Like nooses

We have the fences

The borders

The boundaries

All just aching to be trespassed

But where’s the forgiveness?

Why is it so hard to come by?

God forgives those who trespass

But you Christians

You do not forgive

You only condemn

And put up more fences

So unlike Christ you are

Jesus was nailed

To a fence

To a border

To a boundary

That we all must cross

Exit left

To find your name in the meadows

In the hyacinths

In the roses

In the ivies

What will my name be?

Hopefully not another role

Not a rich guard

Or a gift from god

Or the quiet one

Name me after the plant friends I’ve made

Who I hope to feed when I’m dead

Like those buried along Honey Creek

Now for my long walk back

To a Big Mac

Certainly a few steps closer now

To death

These eight miles

That were supposed to be six

Will surely shield me from

A heart attack gifted to me

By the big Golden Arches,

Right?

…right?

I make it back

The last of my water gone

Lips parched

Neck and feet sore

For a moment I think of Jesus

Who will make a similar journey

Of pain and thirst

Two weeks from today

But instead of being nailed to the cross

And descending to the underworld

I look for the closest McDonald’s

A vision of hell

In its own right

My Dr. Pepper

Chokes me.