The Contrast

The Contrast
Lift Big, Sing Big, Look Great Doing It.

Thursday, April 17, 2014


I wrote this, or rather dictated this piece to my phone whilst on a cold and windy walk during one of my nights in Tulsa. At first I thought this was about some strange, unprovoked, aggressive stance I took towards religion and my thoughts on what it is truly meant to be in our roles as people of faith. However, I now look over the events that took place the past week and realize that this was just another push towards me not allowing myself to be a victim in any regards. I often get caught in mortal struggles, just like everyone else on this fragile planet, but I shall not allow myself the martyrdom that comes with being a lazy person of fortune and privilege. I called this ignorance...and now I understand why. Whatever the fuck that means...


How far will your ignorance take you? The deceit, lies and stories you weave in riddles, where does it's forked path leave you? Jesus heals the blind, he does not guide them. His love a lamp for your feet or a lighthouse for the rocks. But his love is remnant in scripture, stories, poetry, puzzles to be deciphered. The earth you dwell in shreds Papyrus and scrolls with the icy concrete of moral dilemma and the ever changing societal landscape.

Heal yourselves! Wrap your own wounds, seal your scars, and glance upon your earthly marks as evidence of your mortality and smile upon them with love and gratitude. Those tears and burns, cuts and abrasions are not just superficial, they are the map of your very being. Trace them with fingertip in admiration, they are your ribbons and trophies, proof of your success through failure. For God to make your skin clean, white and unblemished would be far beyond the point of the lesson of faithfulness.

Leave your cage. You want success? Take foot to granite, and hand to bark and ragged cliff. When faced with oppression, take nail and tooth to skin and bone. You believe your life to be worthy of sacrifice? Wrap your hands with the hair of your wicked foes and the pull! You demand the redeeming blood without ever seeing the red hue of your own seep from your own toils, my dear Job.

Glance upon your earthly form. Did God not make you capable of more than just huddled whispers? Hands clasped together, eyes full of wet sorrowed fear? He gave you strength of tendon and muscle, Callused steel wrapped over bone, for he made you in his image. Have you not voice? Blistered with thundering passion? Raise it with wicked arrogance! Learn from your folly! Your DNA weaved from the dust of Adam and Eve, God's perfection lies within you, take up your crown, MacBeth! None of us possess earthly immortality. Earth is your Waterloo, Napoleon. Claim whatever victories your frame will allow, then you can look into the face of St. Peter and smile as he counts your mistakes with one hand, while opening Heaven's Gate with the other.

"Take up you crown, MacBeth!"

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