Roll Away The Stone

Not many people know that I am a priest.

So what.

Not many people know more than nothing about me.

And that’s the way I like it.

Nevertheless,our church it is true: I am a priest.

Certified. Certifiable.

And, hereabouts, we call our church this: Kneel Before Mary Holy Mother Of God Blessed Lubricious Wonderment Eternal Wet Waiting Willing Open Golden Flower.

So let it be noted.

So let her be noshed.

I am outing myself, as priest dude, because here, in this 2013 Passover and Easter season, members of our congregation are, more than usual, expressing Despair. As we wander through the wilderness of that time, in this world, when and where there is no god.

Did I mention—speaking of Passover—that I am also a rabbi?

Why, though—the fuck?—should I have to.

Because, as everyone knows, one cannot be a priest, without first being a rabbi.

Musical interlude. While, those unacquainted, strive to process.

Work it, people.

; )

And so the lament hails to me, come Good Friday:

don’t laugh, Father —–, but i dread this day and tomorrow and always have.  it feels like all the light and hope in the world are gone until Sunday morning.

To which I reply:

You’re feeling the way you’re supposed to feel, as a Catholic and as a human being. The light did go out of the world, over those three days.

Then it came back.

It is absolutely normal to feel dark dread hollowness during this period. Because it was during this span of time that god was dead.

Jesus was incarnated as both man and god. And from the time he came, dead, off the cross, until he rolled away the stone, both the roll away the stoneman and god part of him were dead.

And a world without any god in it, is pretty dark and dread and hollow indeed.

That is why there is such a celebration, a feeling of joy and relief, in Easter.

Because god, through the resurrection, is back.

And so, therefore, are we.

And with his resurrection, comes the promise of the resurrection of all beings.

The horrors of the crucifixion consisted of a self-punishment, were necessary so that god himself, incarnated in Jesus, could experience firsthand the suffering that faces all beings who are a part of his, god’s, creation.

He needed to know what it was like. To feel solidarity with all his suffering creatures.

Because he—god—felt fucking guilty.

In taking on the suffering, god also, through Jesus, took on all human “sins.” And rendered them obviated. And, in resurrecting himself, decided, what the hell, all we rest should, as was he, be resurrected, as well.

It’s kind of an odd and somewhat convoluted and even bizarre thing. But there it is. I spent decades in the Anathem math. And decades in the ollave grove. And from these twin institutions, I am explaining it, as clean as I can.

I have also, as a vessel of Issac Luria, spent several centuries in the Kabbalah.

And so, my 2013 Passover words, for those of the Hebrew persuasion, in this our Kneel Before Mary Holy Mother Of God Blessed Lubricious Wonderment Eternal Wet Waiting Willing Opening Golden Flower congregation, differ a bit, from those that go out to the Christian faithful.

There is first, for the Hebrew contingent, the rote recognition that, alas, Jesus of Nazareth cannot hope to qualify as the long-promised Jewish Messiah.

Because said Messiah, as ritually and repeatedly promised, was and is, supposed to, upon his righteous arrival, immediately end all whomping on Jews.

Since all whomping on Jews decidedly did not end with Jesus of Nazareth—yea, verily, said whomping actually increased, unto, eventually, yesnear-extermination—clearly, this Jesus dude, was not The Dude.

And so, Passover, remains Passover. Wherein the Hebrew faithful solemnly review their release from Egyptian slavery, which occurred about eleventy-billion years ago. And meanwhile devotedly pick at the scabs of any and all other occasions when they, as Jews, because they were, and are, Jews, have been fucked with.

Which, if they really dedicated themselves completely, rather than seasonally, to the task, would mean that Passover would transform into an actual functioning neverending perpetual-motion machine. It would never end. Because the senseless fucking with Jews, here on this planet, it is ∞ . Constant. Without discernible beginning. Or forseeable end.

Anyone who has intensively studied scripture for about 973 years, like I have, will understand that the god of both the Christians and Hebrews has long been gone from the scene.

He was chased away by Job.

Many millennia ago.

Job got jobbed when Lucifer, a former employee of Jehovah, who decided to set up a competing firm in Satancon Valley, induced Jehovah into a bet. That no matter what Evil and Wrongness that Jehovah might rain down upon Job, Job would still declare fealty to Jehovah.

Well, Jehovah won the bet. Sort of. He offed Job’s entire family, stripped him of all his possessions and wealth, and covered Job himself with gruesome boils. Left him sitting it yesan ash heap, scraping himself with pot-shards.

Jehovah then happened by, in a whirlwind, and Job had the temerity to ask: “what the fuck?” He’d never done Jehovah no harm; why had Jehovah so harmed him?

Jehovah was too embarrassed to admit he’d screwed Job on a bet. Instead he loudly and angrily and half-unhinged bloviated about how he’d created whales and elephants and sewage and such, something Job couldn’t do, and long before Job was ever born. And so Job, said Jehovah, he should just hush his mouth.

But instead, it was Jehovah who, thereafter, hushed his mouth.

Never again did he speak.

In either Old Testament, or New.

He went totally silent.

And remains silent to this day.

Message received: “we are/on our own.”

Humans are not native to this planet.

Consciousness nestles into the corporeal container. But the corporeal container is hardly the be-all and end-all.

As the music and videos above demonstrate: even, on this planet, the dead, and their people, know this.

The corporeal container is merely a way-station.

Humans, when ready, when properly aged, are going into space.

Without bodies. As, without bodies, they came.

Ken Kesey was a priest. A rabbi. A god.

When young and frisky, he thought maybe he could tell other humans how best to live.

When he grew up, he regretted this.

And so, bodhisattva, he dedicated the rest of his life to opening his home to any passing stranger. Because said stranger might be someone who, once upon a path, decided to walk the way, Kesey said to walk.

In his collection Demon Box, Kesey relates how one evening he opened his home to a man, and a woman, with child, who claimed they had followed his path. To his door.

But these people soon proved seriously yesblack with negativity.

Whatever it was, they knew it was Wrong. Whatever they gazed upon, they knew it was Rotten. Whatever they contemplated, they knew it would prove Useless.

All and everything, to these people, was Foul and Filthy and Forsaken.

And finally Kesey said to them, one night, that if they chose to continue to live, the way they were living—black and dark and sour and completely devoted to negativity—that, one day, the spark, that was all that was worthy in them, all that is worthy in any human being, would one day “just . . . go . . . out.”

And that’s all that there is. The spark.

Kesey knew that. Priest. Rabbi. God.

I know that. Priest. Rabbi. God.

You know that. Priest. Rabbi. God.

They laugh, they snort, they deride, on this planet—the cynical, the self-neutered, the onan-alone, the sad-sack left-behind—when the finest artists among them, from William Shakespeare to Terrence Malick, eventually and ultimately pillow into love.

“Can’t they think of anything different? Anything new?” carp the self-castrated.


Why should they? Even the Science Men, these pocket-protectors, they now know, that most all of the universe, consists of dark matter, and dark energy. Both of which may be most nakedly and accureately expressed as: desire.

The primal wanton undeniable urge of the universe is to taste itself. Which it can only do, if it splits off into itself, and an Other.

It is therefore precisely because folks like Shakespeare and Malick are the most accomplished of artists, that they inevitably land in love.

come down

Anybody English-speaking who’s in this century fallen down the rabbit hole of staying up all night to Easter-time write in some way about love and Jesus, can’t help but end with Leon Russell.

So: below, here he be.


An interesting way to live. Evaluating one’s every act in the light of “what will they do in 2000 years.”


29 Responses to “Roll Away The Stone”

  1. 1 sally March 30, 2013 at 12:05 pm

    Well, me and bunnies and peeping chicks still wish to annoy you by wishing you Happy Easter– though I find it strange to be “happy” while JEEBUS is “hanging” in misery– and MR.HaHa does nothing? Greeks say “Christos Aresti” — “Christ has risen.” A bit more approprate? One is to reply something like “Halleluia (sp?) Yep, he has” but I forget those words.It’s a difficult time if you grew up with a Presbyterian mother who took you to church and a Greek Orthodox father who was an agnostic, but had you baptized in the golden fount before you knew if you wanted to take that bath.(Supposedly that dousing gets me into heaven no matter what I do — BUT, oh dear, will my inner ear problem give me the dizzies on my rapture trip!) And sorry to say I find joy telling the Mormons and Jehovahs and the mass of religious cult members who inhabit this area, and who regularly appear at my door, that I am an atheistic agnostic, Greek Orthodox, Buddhist and sometimes I ask if they would like to discuss the multi-dimensional branes of the “many mansions.” Damn, a few of the young say yes, but most flee. Gotta go now and dye eggs– though I’m not sure WHY? NAMASTE -xoxox

    • 2 mieprowan March 30, 2013 at 12:15 pm

      Another option is to smile manically and say “I’m dreadfully sorry, but I’m right in the middle of casting a spell. Would you mind coming back in about ten minutes?”

    • 3 bluenred March 30, 2013 at 2:32 pm

      Peeps are The Rulers. They are why Mr. Ha-Ha is The Loser. ; )

      Jesus is doing alright. I think about now is when he’s touring Hell. He’ll be back above ground shortly. ; )

  2. 4 mieprowan March 30, 2013 at 12:34 pm

    Thanks for the lovely sermon, or whatever you would like to call it, blueness. I am now thinking of today as The Quiescence.

  3. 5 Alexa March 30, 2013 at 2:26 pm

    this may be the best writing you have ever done, Padre. the intricate weaving of what is sacred is quite extraordinary.

    thank you for this, and for never telling me to go and sin no more. 😉

    to actually learn something of substance from anything written on the internet is a gift. thank you.

    • 6 bluenred March 30, 2013 at 2:33 pm

      Why would you be told to sin no more? Your sins are an inspiration to us all. ; )

    • 9 mieprowan March 30, 2013 at 11:48 pm

      I have no luck with men, Alexa. Sooner or later they all run me off.

      I currently have candidates on five fingers of one hand.

      My stepfather. My oldest halfbrother. Blueness. Claude. Derrick.

      Not for sex.

      For friends.

      XY friends.

      Point being that it’s really nice to be here, but I have no faith. I have no faith.

      I’ve been burned too many times for so many years, by men, to have any faith.

      I’m 55 years old.

      They got me every time.

      I’m a hermit now. I correspond with Autistics.

      I have no idea of my purpose anymore. I am lost.

      Still, I try. I plant plants. I care for my cats and my dogs.

      I try. But they don’t like me here and I figured that out years ago and somebody should reply me a video. Somebody should reply me a video. I’m sad and I could use a video.

      • 10 Alexa March 31, 2013 at 2:05 am

        chica, we gotta talk. time for some chisma y charla, si?

        WHY YOU THINK YOU WANT A MAN?! why you give a fuck if they LIKE you or not? clara tu jebita the damn truth. you got to be kinda like they are (not <i<mi tesoro blueness, but every other) to live in truth, not anger and darkness, doing what makes MIEP happy.


        i have 2 failed marriages, some ex-factor boyfriends, and if i could be gay? i would be gay in a heartbeat! only problem is i like dirty white boys too much. but i don’t like nuthin enough to stress about it or lose faith over it.

        i decided (long ago, before i married the esteemed douchenozzle who made me Almost Famous all over Instagram WITHOUT my knowledge or anything like permission) this:

        it’s important for me to be happy, and i’m not gonna let anyone’s opinion get in the way of that. if i make a mistake, it’s MY mistake. but i have been in that dark, tormented, angry place it sounds like you know. and ask blue, he knows. i simply do not care, and am going to live in my truth and do what i love with the people i love. and if there ain’t no people? that works, too.

        this year i’ll be 32. i think more musica is needed here. Lauryn Hill explains better than anyone else about That Thing.

  4. 16 mieprowan March 31, 2013 at 12:53 am

    Also, I’ve always liked that song about Solsbury Hill. Or however it’s spelled.

    But none of this matters. Adios.

  5. 20 Alexa March 31, 2013 at 1:36 am

    i still can’t post a video? sad!

  6. 21 Alexa March 31, 2013 at 2:11 am

    this for mi honeybee, blueness, my Sweetest Thing.

    8 years? 9? can’t remember (literally) a time before blueness. 😉

  7. 25 Alexa March 31, 2013 at 2:27 am

    no more sad, Miep. you have friends. the sun has risen (for this Miami bitch anyway) and all the darkness and despair are no more. annunciation is finally here . . . i’ve had my Confessions to mi Padre. i might have communion later, but not in the traditional sense. what is this i’m telling you? you only live ONCE. live YOUR way, chica.

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When I Worked

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