Mother and the Mosh Pit
Like migratory birds responding to an archetypal memory telling them where to go, young men respond, drawn to the mosh pit and the opportunity it offers to work out their emerging warrior energy.
Like migratory birds responding to an archetypal memory telling them where to go, young men respond, drawn to the mosh pit and the opportunity it offers to work out their emerging warrior energy.
American evangelicals replaced the pale, weak, skinny, crucified Jesus of mid-evil Catholics with their own distorted image ~ a strapping, Hollywood handsome Jesus in clean blue robes holding a snowy lamb ~ a poster boy for their pro-war, middle class, capitalist, Western values. A kept man. A poser. Both images are lies.
There is no way the human imagination can fathom the ultimate, and the only way to catch a glimpse of it is by vanquishing one’s fear of the unknown.
I was given a rare, literally once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to love someone to death, and I missed it.
We are like trees. Our roots go deep and are hidden. Our branches spread wide to the heavens and sway and grow, never the same today as they were yesterday. Who can perceive the whole of us? Every leaf is a story that makes us who we are.