An Outing with Friends, to A Dank Place, for Philosophical Discussion and Dog-Poo

Hangin' Out with the Body of St. John Neumann

Here you rest

And how jealous am I.

But here I rest as well.  Thanks for that (this).

This place exists because of you

and for that

All of these people are grateful

I as well.

I sit amongst the faithful

the hopeful

and the doubtful.

The young and the elderly.

Because of you

and all of the tradition that surrounds you

this is a place of peace.

A meditative zone

In a city that reverberates the echoes of violence

The schemes of the greedy

the wretchedness of those lives stricken with sorrow and poverty.

Yet I am lucky.

From my dwelling

I can swish my legs over a series of six or seven blocks

through the heat and rage

into your quiet, air conditioned abode.

The comforts of modernity, softly humming in my ear.

Stumble upon this morning's liturgy.

Sit and listen quietly

To the murmuring of prayers.

They've hit your ears a thousand times before

and no doubt they'll do it again

But this, this

Is special

This Time you're aware of them as never before

This select group

This elaborate shrine of a basement

At 1019 North Fifth Street,

Philadelphia, PA.

St. John's

A smoke machine behind the shrine,

it wisps waves of vaporized water,

water which was cared for.

water touched, blessed

water meant to cleanse

to purify

Only those tired of the filth and muck,

only if you so choose

to acknowledge your wretched existence

and submit.

A man in a robe bows before a book placed on an overly ornate table.

He holds the book above his head,

and takes this book somewhere else.

Across the room,

to a seperate ornate pedestal.

A man follows him, swinging a ball and chain filled so with refrain,

or atleast you would think.

Not so much the full circle,

but a crescent pendulum,

spitting and hissing of vapor with every peak.

A cloud gathers,

and it envelops,

this human being so elevated

The stations of the sacrifice surround me,

and I am devoured by the hard work and blood of craft.

Exile and denial,

ritual and sacrifice.

A hunger rolls through my body,

not for the opiates of the spiritual fancy,

But for an ever-present reality which can satisfy the hole which faith cannot.  Something to plug the great gap in mind and biological adaptation.  An adaptation to quell this horrible anxiety, to stifle the incessant wonder, of the greatest mystery, and the most painful secret

We begin breaking bread,

and as women prepare to move forward,

they clutch tight to their purses.

For even in the palace of faith, man cannot be trusted.

A Dark and Sunny Sunday

Easter Sunday, Oxford Church of the Nazarene.

Conversation between two bomb builders:

Front pew, my childhood church.

Familiar faces have a hard time recognizing mine.

An older couple approaches, with benevolent intent:

"We were trying to figure out who you belong to."

"Do I have to belong to anyone?" I said.

"Well, umm, no, umm, I guess."

"I'm kidding.  I'm Nicole Gray's Son."

"So you are back, visiting from college?" The older woman asked.

"Yes, yes, back from art school."

"Oh that's nice, my nephew is an artist.

He's fantastic, he can draw anything you put in front of him."

The couple go on to relay the information, 

of how no matter how hard they tried,

artisticly, neither could produce a stick figure.

"Well, I don't draw that often myself,

I'm mostly interested in sculpture,

particularly Ceramic and Steel."

The older gentleman asks:

"Oh, sculptural steel huh?

Do you do any welding?"

"Yeah, that's, like, one of my specialties, I would say."

"You know" he continued, "I was a professional welder

for years, yeah, that was my career."

"Oh cool, what kind of welding?"

"Well i was doing mostly electron-beam welding."

"Really? Sounds high-tech.  What were you working on?" I asked.

"Well I was working on the Russ Missile project."

"Huh..."

I paused to let this sink in, for I still wasn't sure.

"Wait, do you mean missile,

as in,

Missiles for the Military?"

"Yeap.  Hah, to this day, I still think of how

I landed that job."

"Yeah, building bombs is a big deal.

How did you get into that?"

"Well, I've always known it was God's will.

If it wasn't for him,

putting me in the right place

at the right time,

I would have never been blessed with my career."

PS: That's my 6 year old brother.

I ask him later if he understands

or thinks about,

the words they make him sing.