The word God. It is so heavy. When I think of the word God, I think of lies I’ve been told. I think about the hatred of self. I think about families being torn apart. I think about genocide in his name. I think about him. A man. A face. Whiteness. A flag. A burning cross. A bomb. A gun. A hood. Violence. Destruction. Abuse. Rape. Excused. I think about the way people say thank you to this man so flippantly after an Oscar win. I think about the way people sprinkle this commercialized idea into conversations. I think about Santa Claus. I think about a slot machine where sometimes I get blessed other times I have to tithe and try my luck again. I think about pastors that ask their congregants to call them daddy. I think about men who proclaimed themselves blessed fathers while the rest of us are their children. I think about forced spiritual orphanhood. I think about deceit on national levels that some are chosen and others are cursed. I think about capitalism. I think about the money changers, Jesus flipped tables for. When I hear people talk about God. I think about how he’s blessed all these basketball players, rappers, celebrities, and how he picks and chooses those he finds worthy to have wealth. I think of manifest destiny. I think of the continuous pull of our bootstraps and no matter how hard we try to tie those shoes for some they will always come off. I think about men whispering prophecy into their own ears like a mantra for self-promotion. I think about prosperity and promise on all ends for all people but only a few who get to touch it in their lifetime, they must not have believed hard enough. I think about the pennies which say his name. I think about a currency that cries out his commandments, next to the faces of leaders who are perfect, brilliant, and of course blameless. I think of blue eyes. I think of white hair. I think of rippling muscles. I think of white cloth. I think of thunder and lightning. I think I still see Zeus. I think the word God has been destroyed. Long before Christ came into the picture. It happened with David. It happened with Ishmael. It happened with Agamemnon. It happened with men. Men killed the word, God. And now we must reclaim it.

We must reclaim it in nature. We must reclaim it in sex. In reaching. In rollercoasters. In grief. In metaphor. In writing our own scriptures. In creating our own holy languages. In compassion. We must reclaim it in awe and wonder. We must reclaim it through deep and dark questions. We must reclaim it with anger and shaking. We must reclaim it with doubt and fear. We must reclaim it through the rebirth of the self. We must reclaim it by ripping down the curtain and looking up at the stars. We must reclaim it in absolution. We must reclaim it. Before these men, these hoods, these charlatans, this fame, this money, this society, claims us. We must shape the word God, or those shaping it already will shape us.

A deep feeling, oversharing, storytelling, kid from Oakland running around believing in fairy tales.

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