Who stole the chalice from the earth, to raise up guilt and sin, to foster inequity and breed a forced morality. Separated at birth from our mother, the father never returns. What piety makes us kneel towards the throne, promised everlasting truth within an hour. The shroud of heaven hangs the halos of those fishing for salvation from the hands of death. Robbed of choice, they called them heretics, blasphemers, who would ever challenge the light of love embossed in fear. The holy victim bleeds for our tresspasses. Locked out of our gardens gate, we tear and scrap away at the land that bore our birth. We have become deranged and estranged from our senses, yet to turn away from the cross is to dovetail with heart that expands our view. To cohabitat with the sensate earth, as the four winds form the crossroads of our paths to enlightment.
– Josh Fleming
Image by: The Navajo, sand painting, pollen clan