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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required How can you say with your not quite straight face that you neither know nor care anything of God, or gods, or exotic goddesses or ghosting holy spirits? That's like saying you don't care for any love today, or believe in rain during a drought, yet feel gratitude for sacred Earth's holistic medicine, all the grace-filled rain that came some other place and day, even if not this dry and cracked today. Like saying you don't believe in music and dance and sex and pleasure and passion and red and purple and pink and yellow bruised violet sunsets. How could you not care about creative becoming? Regeneration of interdependent life? The future peaceful home of our prospering grandchildren? Health care and assurance? Social and environmental securities? Anti-social anti-ecological irreligious insecurities? AnthroObscene LoseAnthroMinds/LoseEarthBodies mutually assured destroying war games and re-creative multicultural sacred/organic gardens pantheistically loving peace-thriving fragrant and beautiful Beloving Communities. How can you pretend with that half-smirk that this Earth Goddess we democratically garden together is no one you could wisely know or deeply care about? To co-redeem a master gardener's wildest dreams? To love into integrity's holy nature/spirit wealth by divesting of manmade hypocrisy, thinking we could sufficiently name, much less commodify, God without re-creating passions and pleasures of organic Paradise. Why would you take a pass on digging into Earth's co-passionate fully humane mind/body divinity? This could not be true not really you not the Self with polyculturing Others past and future right now within and without your own, but never owned, passion to prefer sacred cooperative pleasure's indigenously natural wisdom. How can you know we're not gods and goddesses in our health-gardening integrity? in our potential for harvesting regenerativity? economic and politically fertile sync-tensegrity, love of full-stretch multi-colored jazzy soul livity. You know you want to dance in cornrows and sing with bird choirs as god and goddess within and on, for and of Mother Gorgeous Gaia's embryonic wounded womb elationally awaiting Golden Ruling garden bliss Or, did I miss something in that twinkling of your somewhat straight-faced lie?
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