I choke on the word spirituality.

Not so much on the reality

but the sometimes solitary focus

on the ethereal, mystical, and utterly

invisible. I lose my way in the mist.

My spirit hums closer

to the ground, often emerges

with mud on its face. It scrounges

truth among the mushrooms and

lichen. Peels off labels from

discarded tin cans, and there among

the roaches and other vagrants,

finds its theology in funky

configurations. Prefers single

syllable words and saints

with sullied reputations.

Loves it when Jesus plays

with little kids. Joins him

for hot dogs and Kool-Aid

afterwards. Laughs

during the prayer. Sometimes

forgets

to say "Amen."

 

Nancy Thomas from Close to the Ground