Incarnation
By Joe Reyes
It did not begin then,
when the knife tore through my mother’s womb,
and they lifted me out of my bloody cradle,
and I screamed with my own cord around my neck.
It did not begin when the sky bellowed its battle cries,
when the night crackled yellow,
and the sharp rain sliced slits into my soul
as I lay on the wet grass, hopeless.
It did not begin when I ran miles from home
only to find myself broken on a bathroom floor,
bandaging the raw remains,
hoping that somehow, I could piece myself together
again.
It did not begin when HE screamed at me to shut up,
when HE lashed at me with his belt,
when HE beat me blue,
nor when HE forced me on my knees -
as I am now,
here,
at HIS altar.
It did not begin when —
no --
it has not yet begun.
But … it is beginning … soon.
Oh, so soon.
As you surrender yourself here,
to this altar,
to this place,
to this moment.
As you give all you have been,
all you will be,
all you are,
to this moment.
Ask yourself if this is it,
before you continue,
before you jump in and drown yourself
in their prophecies, in their homilies, in their prayers.
For if you choose to prostrate yourself before their sacred one,
without thinking of the ramifications,
you will throw yourself into the sea,
far from land.
You will journey for days, months, years,
looking for something to anchor to for just a moment
before the current takes you again,
again out to the sea.
You will never stop questioning all you are
and all your experience
and how you fit into the grand scheme of existence.
You will always refuse to simply exist
- a tragedy -
For if you only existed,
you would know peace.
You will always believe that your body is just another gross, useless carcass
that holds you back from what lies beyond your mortal reach.
You will always hate how the flesh frustrates your every attempt
to avoid sexual failure.
You will always refuse to forgive yourself for exploring your God-given body
and its delicate intricacies that you have been taught to fear.
You will lose all sense of self and wander
for more than their forty days and forty nights.
You will never find your way back home.
You will slowly decay into a decrepit soul
who has been starved of their only salvation - themself.
But most of all, my dear child, you will sacrifice your entire being,
all in the name of an attempt to make sense of some religion
that holds no space for who you are.
And within this sacrifice will be the
INCARNATION
of repression
My dear one -
I ask you now.
As you come to this altar,
as you bring your gift of self
- your whole self -
ready to give it all away,
ask yourself:
What will remain?
It did not begin then,
when the knife tore through my mother’s womb,
and they lifted me out of my bloody cradle,
and I screamed with my own cord around my neck.
It did not begin when the sky bellowed its battle cries,
when the night crackled yellow,
and the sharp rain sliced slits into my soul
as I lay on the wet grass, hopeless.
It did not begin when I ran miles from home
only to find myself broken on a bathroom floor,
bandaging the raw remains,
hoping that somehow, I could piece myself together
again.
It did not begin when HE screamed at me to shut up,
when HE lashed at me with his belt,
when HE beat me blue,
nor when HE forced me on my knees -
as I am now,
here,
at HIS altar.
It did not begin when —
no --
it has not yet begun.
But … it is beginning … soon.
Oh, so soon.
As you surrender yourself here,
to this altar,
to this place,
to this moment.
As you give all you have been,
all you will be,
all you are,
to this moment.
Ask yourself if this is it,
before you continue,
before you jump in and drown yourself
in their prophecies, in their homilies, in their prayers.
For if you choose to prostrate yourself before their sacred one,
without thinking of the ramifications,
you will throw yourself into the sea,
far from land.
You will journey for days, months, years,
looking for something to anchor to for just a moment
before the current takes you again,
again out to the sea.
You will never stop questioning all you are
and all your experience
and how you fit into the grand scheme of existence.
You will always refuse to simply exist
- a tragedy -
For if you only existed,
you would know peace.
You will always believe that your body is just another gross, useless carcass
that holds you back from what lies beyond your mortal reach.
You will always hate how the flesh frustrates your every attempt
to avoid sexual failure.
You will always refuse to forgive yourself for exploring your God-given body
and its delicate intricacies that you have been taught to fear.
You will lose all sense of self and wander
for more than their forty days and forty nights.
You will never find your way back home.
You will slowly decay into a decrepit soul
who has been starved of their only salvation - themself.
But most of all, my dear child, you will sacrifice your entire being,
all in the name of an attempt to make sense of some religion
that holds no space for who you are.
And within this sacrifice will be the
INCARNATION
of repression
My dear one -
I ask you now.
As you come to this altar,
as you bring your gift of self
- your whole self -
ready to give it all away,
ask yourself:
What will remain?