What if I’m spiritual, but I don’t believe in organized religion?
What if I want justice, but I don’t believe in organized rallies?
Should we open the zoos and let out all the animals?
Should we open the libraries and let out all the verse?
Maps are old-fashioned. They’re ancient. They point to places that aren’t even there any more.
Did your book clubs last? Mine started strong. I still read though. Every night I read.
Will our schools stop learning? Will we unspool education into threads?
In college they make you say — declare—what you will learn. Your major. The college says you have to —that you have to want to — learn one thing more than any other thing.
Study until they say you’ve studied it enough. Paper in a frame. Hang it.
I never not once in my life understood college. Not one time.
The transfer of knowledge from one person to another. I dropped the baton. Then I found stuff on the ground I liked better. Ants and acorns. Shiny objects.
I thought things would make sense when I got older.
I eat healthy but I don’t believe in organized nutrition. Avocados can pray or not pray, as far as I’m concerned.
I can’t kneel at church. I don’t kneel. Don’t you know it’s taken me this long to stand tall, shoulders back, head up? Not everything is my fault.
I don’t believe in organized exercise. Pilates killed aerobics. Aerobics killed black coffee and cigarettes. If I want to run I’ll run to the basement and scream while the washer’s on so the neighbors can’t hear.
I drive but I don’t like organized transportation. Why should the government tell me where my sedan does and does not belong. Our old gray pickup growing up had three gears on the steering column. I stayed off the roads, so the government never found me. Underage driver. Coughing and sputtering and clouds of dust. Jerk shifts. I killed it.
I grew up far away from here. You never went there.
My friend Missy got her license and ten minutes later almost murdered us. Headed home from school at 90 mph. In some places 16 is still young enough to kill your friends.
I need a heart but I don’t believe in organized transplants.
Isn’t an audience just organized listeners?
If your alphabet isn’t organized you have a learning disability.
What if I like people but not all at once? What if I like people scattered, random, a little lost.
I have never once in my whole life understood you.
I want to make a church out of something you can’t see. What’s that sound? the kids will ask, looking up into their parents’ eyes. Eyes burning with love. With fire. What’s that sound?
We are closer now than we have ever been.
I have always wanted a god that had something to do with cardboard. Flea markets. A shaggy Shepherd wet from a storm, it shakes and the water drops fly. Who knows where they’ll scatter.
I miss people I don’t even know. I want to be with you. I want to zig and zag to get you a tissue in time when you sneeze. I want to be everything our Lord and Creator meant me to be. I want to share it with you. Everything I have.
But not every time.