Sunday, February 25
DON'T YOU RUN FROM THE LORD This is a prayer, and you should aim it where you need to. ~Open Mike Eagle I’ve seen God chase down a comet. Not even breathing hard. Not even breathing, because what is breath to God? What do you know about that life / about speed beyond respiratory systems and lactic acid / about a body that might as well be a blink? How a hummingbird could instead feel like a land seal lumbering, trying to pivot and dodge God’s call. Imagine this is why the universe keeps expanding—why it stretches: it is chasing the voice of God. Your galaxy has been getting cooked. Dusted. All that stuff floating around in the dark heat void, that’s the universe going catabolic, fissuring in the nonexistent hope of rotating apace. So who are you to run :: human :: it is not enough for me to call you snail, call you stalactite. Computers boosted your search speed, but to God you are slower than an addled processor—every internet tab open on the hunt for a shortcut or way away. You should close some windows. Save yourself. Drop the thread, little Theseus, and give it (—it: you—) up. To God. To God, who had to send someone as stoned-footed, as mud-tongued, as me to (politely now) ask you not bother hoofing and huffing, that you wade your ears into this wake of God-exhaust. That crackling is not static. This whole time, you have been within the blaze you thought you were outrunning. (Kyle Dargan)