You can see it now, can't you? I mean, can't you?
I wrote this poem during Christmas of 2019,
nearly five years ago.
Everything I wrote below regarding
Trump's supporters,
no matter how wan they have been,
or may be today, in their support,
holds even more true today than then,
and it was fucking hard-core truth then!
They have taken the words and deeds
of a man--a man, not a god--who would,
were he around today, look at them
and feel nothing but revulsion
and disgust for their words, their deeds,
all spoken, and done, in his name.
Here's the thing:
if you can't see that,
then your blindness has nothing to do with eyesight,
but spiritual deadness.
Your spiritual deadness.
You don't need to be an intellect of any kind
to see this; this has little to do with
brains, with smarts.
You are part of the problem.
You are part of the disease.
Whatever you believe Jesus of Nazareth was--
man or god or both--
your actions and character
are incongruent and violently
contradictory to the life the man lived,
which was deeply moral and spiritually impeccable.
To put it another way:
You cannot be a Trump supporter and a moral human being.
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Thus we arrive at the final Christmas of the 2010s.
Two millennia ago a man lived and died.
He gave the world a system of morals of awesome beauty and sublimity.
He lived poor. He didn't fight for status.
He didn't pine after things.
He hung out with the outcasts.
He rebelled against the authorities.
For that, he was executed.
The miracles?
Couldn't care less about them.
Additions to a life that didn't need them by
small men who refused to understand him.
The resurrection?
Sure. But not in body.
Son of God?
Sure. But then so are you, and so am I.
Twenty centuries have followed;
twenty centuries plus nineteen years.
And many, maybe most, of his believers are as violent and vile
as human beings can be.
If he showed up tomorrow, Christmas Day,
he'd be murdered by those same followers
by sundown.
Why?
Because he spoke of loving one's neighbors.
He spoke of acceptance and fairness,
of mercy and compassion,
of inclusion and forgiveness.
He lived those words with each breath he took.
He walked his talk.
And so the monsters who claim to love him most,
but who support children being ripped from their mothers' arms,
who support a wholly immoral, brutal, and corrupt "president,"
who yearn for another Civil War,
who invade schools to massacre students,
who wield tiki-torches and brandish swastikas,
who are bigoted and anything but inclusive,
who hate women and treat them like garbage,
who want to establish a dictatorship much like Rome's was,
who defend concentration camps,
who support and defend misinformation and propaganda ...
They would hate him.
Hate him.
Twenty centuries plus nineteen years.
Our planet is burning by our greed.
His words have been heard but entirely unheeded.
His actions have been ignored.
His character and example too.
One thing is increasingly certain.
The human species will be lucky to make it to
the next century.
Or, more likely, terribly unlucky for those few who do.
Merry Christmas.
~~*~~
From Conversations With God: Volume Two
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Digital Art: Socially Distanced by yours truly
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