so it's a place i can keep my writing. so, it's a good thing to have.

Not Jesus. Not when you're breathing so fully into my face trying to feed your brain with oxygen after a punishing since-five p.m. drinking bout iced off with television and the other, not now. It's midnight, we're in a foreign country. Just let it happen. You crashed. I'll do it next time. But don't say Jesus.

Buddha.

What is Jesus, but something you say when you discover something in opposition to you. A stubbed toe, a dog wearing clothes, the rain. You say it because you are calling to him. You're calling in his marker. You want him to come down and act the older brother and tell those little chafers to screw. You want to tag up.

But he's not gonna do it. Jesus never moves your car so it doesn't crash, Jesus won't take back the boiling water catching your hand. Jesus watches but does not act. You're calling to him, but he's not answering. You're using his name in vain.

And God, well, he's special. He's not a big beard in the sky, no. He's everything special that you can ever think of. Blessing, honour, glory and might be to God and the lamb. Forever. Everything you can ever conceive of as being blessed, honorable, glorious or mighty. Not you. You're not special. Well, no yes you're special. You're special in the way that everything is special. But there is nothing particularly special about you. Well yes you are unique, of course. No two snowflakes. Winter's time for Christmas and after all. It's when billions of these special things fall out of God's hand and catch so prettily in moonlight and wetly pop on your face. You're a snowflake. There's lots of those.

And everything that is special about you, that's God! God's greatness is the wind blowing through the desert, setting us windchimes tinkling.

And so people are always setting themselves up in opposition to something through Christian thought. Love thy neighbour. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

Even the miracles are really just political solutions. Not enough food for the masses, well lookyloo what I got in my back pocket. Leprosy - unsightly. The blind shall hear, the deaf walk, and the lame shall see for miles. Boogedy boogedy! But all the same your man's pssting through the curtain, don't take any of this stuff seriously. I mean that's for the rubes. But you have to admire the showmanship.

And you and I know that we are in this place for real, and it's a war zone, and it isn't going to get any better before you die. But when that happens, Hey! Mmmboogedy boogedy...

And that's Christianity. On the other hand you have an idea that all there is is everything. That the other is an illusion. That the special thing happens when you and I are in the same room together, talking like we are. And if you wanted to you could feel the same way about the fact that I'm sitting on your floor, or I'm wearing these shoes, as about your talking with me. And why not! These are Nikes, they've been made by children. And this floor is a quarter of the world away from where I sat a year ago at this time. You and I connecting. Pure wonder and no second guess.

And anyways, doesn't it make the wobbliness inside you a bit more comfortable?