They will tell you that a kiss is a harlot’s bedchamber. That the meeting of our mouths is a sinner’s filthy prayer. That the exploration of our hands on our bodies is the devil’s excursion into the depths of hellfire. That the heat of our passion is an arsonist’s wet dream.
They will tell you that you shouldn’t be feeling these things, this overwhelming need to pull me into a private place and learn what it means to have skin. They will tell you that your near painful yearning to be close to me is a curse from Eve’s greedy bosom, the devil’s greatest con.
But they will not tell you how to uproot these feelings, this yearning to feel your naked body rub up against mine. They will not tell you how to douse the fire burning in your belly when we lock eyes from across the room. They will not give you the formula that can destroy this magnetic pull that draws us to each other.
They know that it cannot be uprooted. They know it is a major symptom of this disease that is the human condition. They know it is God’s greatest gift; the open door to the creation of silver bright galaxies from the joining of two universes wrapped in flesh. They know that it is the greatest trust, the ultimate seal. They know we will find out the toxic lies they have carved into sermons. They know we will discover the beast of their greed tucked into their commandments—they know that we will see God the moment we accept the electric truth of our emotions; and He will open our eyes to their deceit: that they are serpents selling the fruits of our labor in exchange for dominion. They know we will take our stolen apples out of their lying throats and leave them voiceless.
So they tell us to be ‘holy’, an open confession. They tell us to shun the ‘lusts of our flesh’, to suppress our visceral reactions in the course of being human. They tell us we are gods, and as such we must live like God, in ‘spirit’ and in ‘truth’. They make the greatest gift God ever gave the human race into a filthy rag not fit to see the light. They take the truth of our feelings and transmute them into flaws; they make God into a series of coding.
So let us kiss the harlot’s bedchamber into a sanctuary. Let us pray anyway; God is always ready to hear us. Let us go exploring down the darkest parts of hell; we will make it heaven. Let us burn so bright and steady that the Sun will have no choice but to take cover. Let us love and love, until it is leaking out from our pores and all the hidden wet places that harbor dew.
We will see God in the explosion of lights behind our eyes, and He will hug us well-done.
Dreamer; I sleep all day