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Letter to God
by David Sparenberg
2014-07-21 12:26:51
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Lord God—through all of the Terror, all that has been terrifying and life consuming, violating, destroying, and has diseased the condition of the soul; through it all, the bloodshed, foulness, the cruelty, absurdity, insanity, and ubiquitous injustice; in all phases, in all places, in every era and each eon—Lord God—we could have used you.
Yet somehow our kind has more than survived, and we resurrect our generations out of fire and dust, betrayals, massacre, ashes, and return again from grave to grave to lay further waste this afflicted speck of life in cosmic space—to violate the tortured, corrupted and expiring Earth.
But is it only to pretend at life again, to play the serpent on the swaying bough, while preparing, committing and recording the cumulative consequences of atrocities: of war crimes, of crimes of humanity against humanity, and humanity against nature, against creation, against resistance and difference?
Somehow. someway we go on, we survive and more than survive within this agony, before this captive longing of your silence.  This stalemate and amnesia.  This conflict unequal, bitter and unresolved. 
But long suffering, at last, long last, something ominous approaches.  It is coming as Ultimate Terror and no doubt of our own desperate and despicable design.  Passing critical mass—of over population, over consumption, of fanatical fears and ideologies, and pathological hatreds—it cannot be put off, not denied, no more avoided, evaded, and it cannot be stopped.
From this, this time; the midnight stroke, the clock exploding into body parts and faces and spirits atomized; we may not recover, we may not survive.
What is it then?  Dangling?  What?
Is it the so-called Day of the Lord, the Final Judgment, dread prophetic signs of  Apocalypse?  Or is this the logical tyranny of Anti-Man, the Auschwitz of Anti-Event, the suffocating of dialogue and solidarity, and love and hope, and of the dreaming after freedom and teeming cities, of Aleppo, and dead zones, graveyards and craters, and the Hiroshima of non-discrimination, of blind souls falling skyward and melted masses in the sewer-ovens of Dresden bombings?
Then what it is?  What?  What then?
If this is you, God of Withholding, Prosecutor of Vengeance, I rush into the street of hours and cry out to those who are without weapons, who do not cast the evil eye, are without the will to hurting of others and otherness, and are excluded from bearing false witness, commerce, prosperity and power.  I beacon toward, signal to stand, in family and clan and tribe, together beneath the White Shadow of your mercy, and the heart-wings and rainbow and dove, to mystically weep, and to plead in unison for refuge from Your Thunderhead, Your Firestorm-Wrath and your sickening long since over sickness of this summoned become the Thing of Things—The US—of inhumanity.
But if the Horror is us, of us, and our own, and the approaching Terror our affliction and obsession, ingesting into substance and becoming a self-made solution, then I call out in mourning to children at the breasts, of the loins and in the womb of Gaia: “Beware!  Beware Innocents the Anti-Man! Beware the Anti-Event, the eclipse and darkness at noon!”  I cry to lovers who cannot prevent themselves from loving, even when in the grasp, waiting in existential gulag, and before the ugly maw of global death and mega-death, the Mathematics of Death, and the mechanics, gears, and Nuremberg Laws of Extinctions—and to You, Lord God of Salvation!
Break free, arise and come forth, out from the under-heaven and your hermitage of silence.  Return to landfill planet and wracked hovels of majorities, before the End, End of Days, and provide, to the fragile, the Watchers, and the faithful, guidance.
For look now, You Morphic Visionary, most near and most lonely, we are sharing not only the universal of suffering but the broken covenants, the Promise, and absurd and outraged hope as well.
Return!  Come back into here and now, and hurry too.  As a footstep in twilight; as a slender voice, a cosmic whisper.  Breathe deep, smudge breath, a Holy Breath, and cleaning over, visceral, and profoundly into us.  Although it is known to both this time will take more than The Word to save a remnant, or weather proof and fire proof Ark, and to liberate, to set free—Free At Last—from slavery of the pit and mockery of the shadow, and the curse and heritage, the civilization, the demonic, the Kingdom, of human violence.

What then--Great God of Creation - God of Liberation--is true or false of you; what now is truth or a lie about us?
David Sparenberg
4-7 July 2014

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