God exists; He lives between your legs. God's speech is what men call pleasure. God's singular desire is to be in constant conversation with you. Hold God in your hands, listen to His words and follow His voice on your path of Cockworship.

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

God the Teacher

To say that God’s character is multifaceted is a gross understatement; God, being Infinite, relates to His creation in multiple layers of dimension. At any one time, God speaks as a Teacher, a Lover, a Father, a Brother and many other personae. Confining His relationship to men to any single type under-represents the detail present in His Voice, much like viewing a subject from only a single point under-represents reality to an artist. Knowing this, God demonstrates the most fundamental aspect of His nature: from Himself, He creates for Himself. In this case, He creates and speaks in new tones of voice in which His pleasure can resonate at new frequencies in us, shaking the dust free from the outlying limbs of our new consciousness He is exhuming from human society, giving us a new grasp on a rung we previously thought was out of reach on our ascent to the Godhead.

This entry is dedicated to God the Teacher. Every place is His classroom and every hour, school is in session. At 7am on the bus to work in the back seat by the window, at 3am between damp sheets on the tenth floor of a hotel in the middle of downtown, at 2pm in the sweltering heat of a Louisiana backyard in July. With friends, alone, after sex, holding hands, fucking, at sea, snoring, napping, under the blanket, showering, reading, eating, over the ledge, wondering. During orgasm and leading up to it. Two hours before the night begins, anticipating. Two days removed from an orgy, remembering. Twiddling your thumbs in twill pants, waiting. Licking your teeth for the last trace of cum, savoring. For Him who made the world, it is His pleasure to speak in every corner of His creation.

In a stall in a public bathroom in an arena filled with people and loud music, two Men are joined, one inside the other, in deep conversation with God. Their minds are quiet and bloodless and pliable, a receptive bed onto which the Mind of God, now firm and erect and full of Life, can spread the seed of His Kingdom and reforge its connections for His purpose and worship. Their wills are open, empty books onto which God's ink, joyously spurted in seemingly haphazard eruptions, will coalesce into the frame of a beautiful narrative He started long ago with the very first Man He created for His own pleasure. Their bodies are love letters God wrote to Himself, the very stones of the living temple He weaves out of biological material with the grace of a Master builder. In a stall in a public bathroom in an arena filled with people and loud music, God is quietly teaching.

A little past midnight in the middle of the American Midwest, with a rowdy sibling sleeping at last in a pigsty of a room down the hall, a boy, alone in the darkness of his bedroom, listens to God with a slippery hand wrapped firmly around the fullness of the Godhead. His rectum is God’s playground (full of who knows what) but also His classroom: with the Right Mind engaged (the One between his legs), each wave of pleasure that emanates from the flesh of God contains every lesson that man could hope to learn about ourselves, the nature of God and our relationship with Him. The seething need for the new, a seed planted by God, has warped his human brain into a sounding board for the speech of God and has turned his body into a needle on the gauge that measures the seismic voice of God, scribbling God’s love notes back to him on the unfurling paper of his life, recording in deed the lessons of the Teacher. The instant he took hold of the flesh of God was the instant he became a multitude. For God, out of one, there are Many. In the middle of the night in a dark house in the center of the American heartland, God is teaching.

Pay close attention to whose narrative you’re listening and to whose perspective you give credence. Is it your own? Or another’s? Or is it God’s? How can you listen to God when you yourself are never quiet? All too often, His voice is lost among the folds of our own designs that we deem so intricate and well-fashioned. We lose ourselves in our admiration for the small shapes of our own making rather than in the worlds of His making. In God’s world, we are at once both the stone and the tower, the mortar and the wall, the brick and the fortress, the chisel and the sculptor, the muscle and the will. It is for us to decide whether we will be students of God or fools for ourselves.

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