not religious


New piece from April. I wrote it specifically to bring sumn new to the EQ show at the Loft on 10th and Washington. EQ is curated by Bao Phi and it's the best spoken word series I've ever experienced. I was humbled and honored to participate and perform with some truly great poets and genuinely good people. 
I can probably workshop this piece a little, but I feel like I've waited long enough to post it. I hope you feel it. Thanks for reading.
“I’m not religious, I’m spiritual.”
I respect that (and I would say I’ve said that but…I say that)
what does that mean though?
What does it mean that we feel good when we get high?
Empty when we breath slow?
What does it mean when we just get to feel good about whatever selfish habits and careless emotions we whim because we are just so into ourselves?
Does it mean that we are so in love with the idea that we exist that every fragile step of our narcissism is in exultation of our very own presence? (Cuz that’s kind of what some of these folks look like, right?)
what is that? What is spiritual And Why don’t we know?
Why can granola spirituality be just as hallow as regurgitated dogma?
Is it because we don’t know who we are? Is it because we are not encouraged to give a fuck? That our spiritual leaders are so into themselves that when we ask questions all they really hear is the echo of their own ego?
might it have anything to do with our own lack of imagination?
Maybe spirituality is imagination is inspiration is action is reality.
I am not religious…
I am eyes on a heart beat walking to the horizon (cuz if I can see it I can get there)
A compass with closed eyes (I am exactly where I’m supposed to be)
Blind darkness in a dream’s basement facing a gruesome ghost (because spirituality is not just feeling good for the sake of ignoring a gaping pain)
I am hope like the grip of a flare gun
A shamanic dreamscape where I met god in the sky and man on a stake
A white shroud covering my anxiety
A voice in the sky telling me to find my family…not matter what
to not get involved with the dying of a false prophet
a war against shadow
and flooding moment of light from the throat of a tortured soul aflame
released cool blue by someone who gave a fuck
I am…someone who gives a fuck
collecting and dropping seeds trying to keep some water and sunshine on hand…
just hoping they break earth…just hoping I break earth…
just hoping I can grow from, through, beyond myself,
splitting open from the inside and pushing against the weight of static earth
despite the ubiquitous pressure and feel some sun…
yawning, opening my eyes for the first time,
looking around and seeing some familiar faces.


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