the path before me
just another open window
just the hungry mouth
of the gaping sky
the path ahead as I escape religion
as I run from the pulpit through the doors
onto the gravel street & straight to
the mountains or the creek
here we go down this path
with a pack of grief & lots of grub
as many snacks as we can pack
into this hobo satchel
every seeker is a friend to these
tracks these weeds that sky
from the day we are born
until the day we die
I cannot really retrace my steps
even as I want to reread books
got too many words but
forgot all the hooks
but the walls of church are
crumbling behind me the death
of god or faith or what I don’t know
because Jesus is still a rebel
to whom I might listen as I listen
to the water keepers & earth defenders
as I listen to the workers organizing &
the junkies getting clean & drunks getting dry
& the people flying signs or trespassing in tents or
writing codes with their misconduct
to explode the myths with new ones
we write new stories unravel old fabric to stitch new
still a devotional distraction & powerless surrender
to immersion in the radical mystery
seek to understand new weird things
as much as old weird history
i am grateful to be lost again
unfound from straightjackets of salvation &
discourses on damnation that defy or deny
this sacred reality of nondual liberation