He was shades of both and I was stuffed between. To stop my head from pounding I blew my nose which literally cleared head; miraculous, almost embarrassing relief. In spite of being circumstantially stuck, my head was free. I intended to use it.
Youth group imposter-christ was there, together with a griping chrone, stuffing her jowls with ice cream and judgement. Why had a grown man brought his mother on retreat? She pointed her dripping spoon at imaginary injustices, invisible clouds of things she despised hovering above the floor. Her son was fake jesus. She worshipped him to the discomfort of everyone who dared attempt getting close. Opposing them was a different imposter; the one in yoga pants crowned with a messy blonde halo. She knew everything mainstream. She knew kits, branding, marketing, logos. She didn’t know anything else. She got close to nothing and someones. Her children wandered mute and empty under the feet of tables and Chairs. Between these two kinds of she sat a selfish man mourning the loss of everything he didn’t get but thought he deserved. Like I said, I just blew my nose and tried hiding a fistful of snot in a paper bag. Life is but a sneeze.
Thank you dreams, archetypes, devotions and gross bodily functions. Where’s your inspiration coming from this week?