My soul is a valley of dry bones.
No motion or hope of motion.
No sound but the wind overhead.
I used to think that time would fix me.
Then I thought a list would fix me.
But I'm not stuck in a rut.
I'm dead.
I'm dead and it's filthy in here.
There's a mirror in the other room.
That's where the guy I ought to be stands.
He looks taller than me but he's not.
I think he works out though.
I've wanted to hang out with him more often.
The devil on my shoulder isn't really my best friend.
But it doesn't matter because I'm dead.
I'm dead and talking about God is a waste of time.
So is going to church and all that other crap.
Talking to God is also mostly a waste of time.
Because dead people can't talk.
Dead people can only listen.
So I listen.
Listen to the wind, that's God breathing.
God is breathing because He's alive.
And He probably has a lot to say.
But all I can hear is His breathing.
That's because He's not talking.
He's listening.
Then I realize that I'm listening and breathing.
And breathing and listening together with God.
And I'm not in a rut.
And I'm not in a dark, filthy room.
I'm outside in the bright and breezy blue.
I'm the guy in the mirror who shaves and stands up straight.
Now it's time to go to church and talk about God.
Because I'm not dead.
I'm alive.
Written 4-14-06
Oakdale, CA