Blessed are those whose sanctified butts sit on righteous pews of holiness. For long moments, they forget they are urine and shit-filled bags of mucous and puss.
Blessed are those who arise in the morning and go on anyway. For they are the salt of the earth, sprinkled on the bland flat food of corporate America.
Blessed are those who have found a niche of companionship and love. For they refute the arrogant bastards of the supremacy of war.
Blessed are those who refuse to paint their face with decorum. For they wear the paint of the spirit of Crazy Horse, Jesus and Hafiz.
Blessed are the spiritual marines of all religions and no religion. For they shall inherit the wind, the holy wind that breathes and sustains the cosmos.
Amen.
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Amen indeed!
ReplyDeleteAn earthy beatitude, befitting the salt of the earth.
ReplyDeleteBlessed are all,whether they know it or not. LG
ReplyDeleteahh so sweet! Amen :-)
ReplyDeleteGeez, George, rereading the first and last stanza, I think you missed an opportunity for a metaphor: Perhaps the spiritual marines are "passing" the wind.
ReplyDeleteI apologize, couldn't resist it.
I like the overall message here and, as you know, find your scatalogical references quite effective
~Greg
Greg, yes, most of us are fascinated with our own shit. Sorry I missed that opportunity. We should probably write something together sometime -- would be less likely to miss anything base-ic. Always good to hear from you.
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