If God crafted the Earth I have to believe craft itself is how we honor him I have to

cosmic law: the bigger your blessing, the more you will have to suffer. full-stop. the size of your burden will be directly proportional to the collective mass of your blessings. never lament nor protest not having more, because, if you’re not ready, you will regret it. the

As you gave, so you receive. This is the curse. This is the blessing.

The kids who still pray to angels they can't see have something the smart ones killed, the ability to believe in protection when there's no proof, and that irrational faith is the only thing that survives collapse. The rationalist optimized himself into a corner, explained away

Your great-great-grandchildren won't know your name but they'll carry the warmth or coldness you touched people with, encoded in their nervous systems like genetic memory. Every hour spent becoming important is an hour not spent being real, and at the end only the real moments

God gave you hands and soil and seeds and you gave them to corporations, then wondered why your prayers taste like plastic. you can't subcontract your mortality to Monsanto and expect to keep your soul, the mouth that only eats what demons planted speaks no language heaven

The winter solstice is when darkness reaches maximum power and immediately begins losing, which means the only way light ever wins is by letting darkness go all the way first

Fools pray for what fades. That is how you know them

God spoke and light obeyed. spoke and water split itself in half to listen. spoke and stars burned themselves alive just to exist in his voice. but you. you he touched. shaped with fingers. the architect of black holes played in the mud for you. pressed his mouth to your clay

There is never one cause, never, there are infinite causes folding into infinite causes stretching through space and time in every direction forever and you will never find the beginning because there is no beginning, only threads touching threads touching threads into the dark.

Religion ended. It ended. I felt it end. Now there is only money wearing God's clothes. The men in power say the words but the words are dead in their mouths, dead before they leave their lips, and they know it and we know it and still we sit and listen. Politics. Economy. This

The next philosophers will be men with callused hands and quiet hearts

They beg for coins. They could have asked for eyes.

BEHOLD THE GOD WHO BECAME DIRT WHO WORE FLESH LIKE A BEGGAR'S COAT WHO BLED LIKE ANY MAN BLEEDS AND BY BLEEDING MADE ALL BLOOD SACRED THE INFINITE COMPRESSED INTO INFANT HANDS THE WORD MADE MEAT AND BONE ALL POWER, ALL WISDOM, ALL ETERNITY CONTAINED IN ONE BREATH OF ONE CHILD

They laugh at the stable. And they always miss the birth. The soul is not reborn in golden halls. It is reborn in stables. Among animals. In poverty. In the quiet faith of those who have nothing to prove. I would rather kneel at that poor table than feast in their empty temples

The feminine is the visible, what exists now, what bleeds, what births. The masculine is the invisible, what hides behind existence, what seeds, what dreams the visible into being. You cannot have one without its shadow. The seen needs the unseen to exist, the unseen needs the

The earth bears silent witness to the life we live on her