We’re too deep in it now. Over the mountain we go. If it’s worth the opera house, I know God will float us. But can I really believe that these people on the streets with their dirty fingers will be saved and will not suffer?
So here’s to a lifetime of waking up and breaking down. And yours was a lifetime whose troubles they feared to point out. Out of the desert, onto the beaches––you are the shepherd, but I am still sheepish. I know the sermon, I fear no evil. For better or worse, I am one of your people.
Are you listening, Son of Man? I have seen what world I can. Do you know for sure He’s coming back for your brothers? All the voices of your clan, they are silent as they stand looking on your body. Are we damned? Are we others?
But here I am in a room still bogged down with histories of an angry God who will not speak to me. Here is where Max walked when he could not see. I can see him on the mattress, blind but full of majesty; a belly full of sleeping pills and No. 7 whiskey. We might carry this burden forever.