the ruined god

 

The sun rises over the rooftop of a building across the street and radiates blessings through the kitchen window.

A voice cries out and no one hears it and I’m not even sure I heard it, in fact, with my ears, or if the cry came from the wilderness of my soul machinery, triggered by a random neurochemical electrical occurrence. 

Or is it a message?

I return to my seat at the studio window and see the city become illuminated. The river and sky and buildings are brilliant, but what is this day showing me? 

That ridiculous apartment building that went up a couple of years ago obstructs my view. This is the building that is two buildings joined at the top. It looks like a Lego Colossus that was chopped off at the waist, its upper half thrown into the river and fed to the sea. The idol’s legs straddle what’s left of my view. On top of this ruined god of Late Capitalism is a big sign that can be easily seen by people driving across the Williamsburg Bridge to Manhattan: 

325 KENT

NOW LEASING

I attend Zoom webinars hoping to learn how to be an exorcist. We talk about casting out the demon of White Supremacy from our cities and our souls.

Why aren’t we able to cast out this demon? We ask.

This kind requires prayer, Jesus replies, implying that his disciples don’t pray.

You pray for your mind and heart to be opened, and you’re afraid they will be opened and that you will believe in the impossible transformation of yourself and your world and you are afraid you will lose the despair you cling to and lose the security of being dominated and you will have to confront the powers and the demons within and without you. 

You are afraid you will be called to war.

Stay awake. 

Make more coffee and stay awake. 

I stare out the window to see what is being shown and 

prepare myself for another voyage into the ocean of chaos.