July 1997 mystery date by Rob Brezsny |
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Prayer For You
Believe it or else, beauty and truth fans, it's time for a
prayer for YOU. A prayer to end all prayers. A prayer for
everything you've never asked for before, because you weren't
sure you deserved it. A special, no-nonsense, hype-free
prayer exclusively for you -- in the most unselfish tone of
voice I've ever mustered.
Ready?
I am starting to pray right now to the God of Gods, the
God beyond all Gods, the Girlfriend of God, the Teacher of God,
the Goddess who invented God, and what I pray is:
Oh Goddess Who Never Kills But Only Changes:
I pray that my exuberant, suave, and accidental words
might move You to unleash ferocious blessings on all the
beauty and truth fans who've tuned in.
I pray that You'll grant them what they don't even know
they want. Not just the boons they think they need but
everything they've been afraid to even imagine or wish for.
Oh Goddess, You Wealthy Anarchist Burning Heaven to
the Ground:
The divine chameleons out there in sacred space don't
even know they're crazy. Please use Your blinding magic to
help them see they're all wildly creative geniuses too big for
their own bodies.
Guide them to realize that they're all completely
different from what they think they are and more exciting
than they can possibly imagine.
And make it immoral, illegal, irrelevant, unpatriotic
and totally tasteless for them to be in love with anyone or
anything that's no good for them.
Oh Goddess You Sly Universal Virus with No Fucking
Opinion:
I beg that You help all the personal growth-addicts that
are reading this prayer to be disciplined enough to go crazy in
the name of creation not destruction.
I pray that You teach them the difference between self-
destructive self-control and liberating self-control.
Awaken in them the power to do the half-right thing
when it's impossible to do the totally right thing. Arouse the
Wild Woman within them -- even if they're men.
Give them bigger, better, more original sins and wilder,
wetter, more interesting problems.
And oh Goddess You Pregnant Criminal Who Scorns All
Mediocre Longing:
Inspire all the original sinners out there to love their
enemies in case their friends turn out to be jerks.
Provoke them to throw away things that make them
believe they're better than everyone else.
Show them how much fun it is to brag about what they
can't do and don't have.
Most of all, brainwash them with Your freedom, so that
they never love their own pain more than anyone else's pain.
Oh Goddess, you Psychedelic Mushroom Cloud at the
Center of All Our Brains:
These budding Demeters and Innanas and Buddhas and
Christs deserve everything they need and much much more.
Please arrange for a racehorse to be named after them,
or a boulevard or river or thousand-year-old storm on another
planet.
Help them win the battle against time, and learn to talk
the language of the most scientific angels, and master the
Zen of temper tantrums, and get a fabulous mommy and daddy
in their next incarnation.
Teach them to push their own buttons and unbreak their
own hearts and right their own wrongs and sing their own
songs and be their own wives and save their own lives.
Bless them with lucid dreams while they're wide awake
and solar energy-operated sex toys that work in the dark and
a vacuum cleaner for their magic carpet and a knack for
avoiding other people's hells and a secret admirer who's not a
psychotic stalker and a thousand masks that all fit their face
perfectly and their own 900 number so that everyone has to
pay to talk to them.
Oh Goddess, you Dumb Fast Infinitely Wide River of
Electricity, You Smart Slow Smoldering Lump of Angel Fat
Left Over from the Big Bang, You Ghostly Snake Who Loves
Inventive Tragedy and Sophisticated Superstition, You Cool
Furnace That Incinerates the Props of Our Nightmares Much
Too Slowly, You Creator of Happy Purgatories Where
Impeccably Unironic Apocalypse Salesmen Preach Christian
Satanism and Rosicrucian Baseball Players from the Middle
Ages Dream Politically Cracked Dreams That Reveal the News
in More Exact Metaphors Than Any Newspaper:
I pray that You provide all the global village idiots that
are reading this prayer with a license to bend all laws, rules,
and traditions that keep them apart from the things they love.
Show them how to purge themselves of the wishy-washy wishes that keep them distracted from their divine
desires.
And teach them that they can have anything they want
if they'll only ask for it in an unselfish tone of voice.
Oh Goddess Who Gives Us So Much Love and Pain
Together That Our Morality is Always on the Verge of
Collapsing:
I beg You to cast a spell to nullify all bad spells that
have ever been cast on all the beautiful love geniuses out
there.
Remove, banish, annihilate, and laugh into oblivion any
jinx that has clung to them no matter how long they've
suffered from it, and even if they've grown accustomed or
addicted to its ugly companionship.
Conjure an aura of protection around them so that they
will receive an early warning if they're ever about to act in
such a way that would attract another hex or plague or
voodoo into their lives.
And now, dear God of Gods, God Beyond All Gods, Sister
Lover of God, Mother of God, Goddess who invented God:
I bring this prayer to a close, trusting that in these
mysterious moments You have impregnated the dream glands
of all the beauty and truth fans out there with the most
compassionate lust and smartest love You can imagine.
And if there is anything I've forgotten which will help
their cause, please flash it into my imagination in the coming
days and months and decades, and motivate me to perform any
tricks or carry out any project that will encourage an
abundant flow of sweaty creativity to flow through them,
inspiring them to become more wildly disciplined, erotically
feminist, aggressively sensitive, demonically compassionate,
ironically sincere, lyrically logical, insanely poise,
orgiastically lucid, macho feminist.
Amen. Awomen. Ommmmmmm and halle-fucking-lujah.
There you have it, beauty and truth fans. A personalized
prayer just for you. A prayer that'll probably come true
simply because you didn't even ask for it.
You may now kiss yourself on your own lips.
Rob Brezsny, c/o staff@smug.com
back to the junk drawer
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