The Walls of Jericho

What if we died to division,

to my-way-or-the-highway,

to squabbles, large or small,

to she-said-he-said,

feelings, good or bad

or memories, ditto?

What if we died to the sacred cows

of suffering, pleasure and pain,

to yes-but, if-only and not-now?

What if we died to the whole shebang?

To buying and selling,

to preaching and prostrating,

to taking a stance,

making a claim, or

having an opinion (right)

which makes yours (wrong)?

What if we stopped

and the walls of Jericho fell?

Iconoclasm

Body and soul were cleft,

cathedrals built on the bones of women

and wombs made unclean

Creation stemmed and stymied

by the sheer pain of denying that flesh is spirit

We went from true communion among us

to looking up to some idea of god

It is not that you are not your body,

for your body is the most sublime creation of what you are -

creativity made flesh

so that it may create -

Your constant companion through all your travails

The bearer of your sorrows

Worship not god but hand, eye, foot, breast

The true bringers of love and sustenance

Dismantle your temples and shrines

Make your icons ordinary

Tend to the divine in your midst

This wound runs deep in us all.