Thursday, May 3, 2012


Write right now.
Write so that you'll live.
Write about the dinosaurs.
Write about scorned hearts.
Write about the age of the trees.
Write about the nature of purgatory.
Write about the creation of salvation.
Write about the reasonableness of Jesus.
Write about the diseases of the mind and body.
Write about those good times which nearly killed you.
Write whatever it is you do and whatever it is you think.

Write, damn you, write.
Write so that you can put it out there.
Write so that you can understand yourself.
Write so that the world will comprehend something true.
Write so that you may lay claim to an earnestness of perspective.
Write so that there is a tangible journey, laid out as words on a screen.
Write so that there will endure a chronicle of this moment ineffable and sublime.
Write so that years from now you'll wonder who you were in this moment of pensivity.

Write it long.
Write is down.
Write it as it is.
Write it as it appears to be.
Write it anew and as innovation.
Write it so that the beast inside may subside.
Write it to be the best that it could conceivably be.
Write it so that God will listen.

God, write.
God, write it.
God, write it as history.
God, write it as memory.
God, write it so that you don't accidentally speak it.
(we know what happens when you speak)
God, write a million words or more, I'll read them all.
God, write it all so that I can feel the nearness of you here.
God, write so that we can know the very mind of the infinite. 
God, write it and be intimate with your loved ones, I last of all.
God, write and I will know that you haven't ever abandoned us here.
God, write it through and through and I'll see how you paint history with presence.
God, can I ask this of you? Write write write write write write write write write write.

Write and I'll understand.
Write and I'll see it your way.
Write and I'll be closer to you still.
Write and I'll know what I'm doing here.
Write and I'll clean that dark mirror bright.
Write and I'll know your heart and your mind.
Write and I'll feel those thoughts of yours -- I'll feel it all.
Write and I may explode with the fullness of it all -- and I'll be happy.
Write and we'll see what the payoff will be for this story -- and I'll be happy.

Are all your stories written?
Is there no more?
Are there no more prophets to summon?
Is there no man left to inspire?
Are the acts all already splashed out in front of us?
Is there no more time for revelation?
Are the facts of the past enough to carry us through to the end?
Is there an end, or are we caught in the gaps forever?
Are we here to sit and reflect only, or will you unfold more of yet yourself?

Perhaps you reply in kind:
Be good, Dante, be good.

Okay, Papa. Okay.

No comments:

Post a Comment