#26: Finding Jesus ⛪
Had a rough week, and the morning pages keep getting weirder. The Artist’s date this week took me to Oakland’s Mormon Temple. It provided surprising serenity that I did not even know I needed. It has inspired a future Musing Mormonism post, because that place is wild. It felt like the Ritz Carlton, on steroids. I wrote a poem as I watched a gorgeous sunset over one of the best views the Bay Area has to offer.
Today's poem is from the contemporary inspiration Kae Tempest -previously Kate-who is a spoken word artist and poet. I have been following ‘them’ closely the past 6 years and I semi-joke that I want to become Kae when I grow up.
And yes, I find pronouns very confusing as well, but I really love ‘them’ (Kae not pronouns 😄) and their words so I can’t complain. All power to them.
Scroll below to read and watch ‘Europe is Lost’. It is back from when they were a her. Their latest album is so good.
God, I never realized how confusing these pronouns actually are till I wrote this post.
The Artist's Way Week 8
Morning Pages ✅✅✅✅✅✅✅
Keeping it going strong this week. More explosive emotions in these sessions.
Artist's Date ⛪
One of the prompts in this week’s Artist’s Way felt appealing: Go into a sacred space.
I’ve always loved walking into churches - perhaps because they don’t carry the weight Mosques do for me. Instead I see churches for what they truly are: Dazzling pieces of architecture, with colorful tainted windows, and oil paintings of intense white people staring at each other.
What is your relationship to Jesus?
One of the beautiful young missionaries asked me after a very warm welcome, as if the ginormous statue of Jesus with wide open arms wasn’t welcoming enough.
Well, I am starting to look like him with my hair and beard, and so my friends sometimes call me Jesus. I hope that is ok.
She laughed, and I sighed with relief. I just don’t know how far I can push it.They had a great sense of humor. They gave me an incredible tour that ended with an Arabic version of the book of Mormon.
What is the hardest thing about being a missionary?
I asked one of the two cuties who are like forbidden fruit in a garden of eden.
The rejection. It is hard. You have to constantly be rejected by people and I know I could not do that without Him.
I feel you sister, I feel you. I suppose I need Him on my side too. He's got a real cool pronoun, by the way, that starts with a capital letter and is not grammatically confusing. I can get behind that, especially if He'll help me with the rejections I face as a Writer and a frail Human.
More about my visit to this temple in a Musing essay. But first I just want to finish this course! Only 4 weeks left.
Craft Updates ✅
Almost done with my poetry collection. Looking to publish and perform it. Channeling my inner Kae.
Started playing with backing tracks behind my words, and I am loving the power of expression through spoken word. Expect more of that soon!
I love you and leave you with Kae Tempest. This is the song that lured me into her incredible world of poetic activism.
Europe is Lost
by Kae Tempest
Europe is lost, America lost, London lost
Still we are clamouring victory
All that is meaningless rules
We have learned nothing from history
The people are dead in their lifetimes
Dazed in the shine of the streets
But look how the traffic's still moving
System's too slick to stop working
Business is good, and there's bands every night in the pubs
And there's two for one drinks in the clubs
And we scrubbed up well
Washed off the work and the stress
And now all we want's some excess
Better yet, a night to remember that we'll soon forget
All of the blood that was bled for these cities to grow
All of the bodies that fell
The roots that were dug from the earth
So these games could be played
I see it tonight in the stains on my hands
The buildings are screaming
I can't ask for help though, nobody knows me
Hostile, worried, lonely
We move in our packs and these are the rights we were born to
Working and working so we can be all that we want
Then dancing the drudgery off
But even the drugs have got boring
Well, sex is still good when you get it
To sleep, to dream, to keep the dream in reach
To each a dream, don't weep, don't scream
Just keep it in, keep sleeping in
What am I gonna do to wake up?
I feel the cost of it pushing my body
Like I push my hands into pockets
And softly I walk and I see it, this is all we deserve
The wrongs of our past have resurfaced
Despite all we did to vanquish the traces
My very language is tainted
With all that we stole to replace it with this
I am quiet
Feeling the onset of riot
Riots are tiny, though
Systems are huge
Traffic keeps moving, proving there's nothing to do
'Cause it's big business, baby, and its smile is hideous
Top down violence, and structural viciousness
Your kids are dosed up on medical sedatives
But don't worry 'bout that, man, worry 'bout terrorists
The water level's rising! The water level's rising!
The animals, the elephants, the polarbears are dying!
Stop crying, start buying, but what about the oil spill?
Shh, no one likes a party pooping spoil sport
Massacres, massacres, massacres, new shoes
Ghettoised children murdered in broad daylight
By those employed to protect them
Live porn streamed to your pre-teens' bedrooms
Glass ceiling, no headroom
Half a generation live beneath the breadline
Oh, but it's happy hour on the high street
Friday night at last lads, my treat!
All went fine 'til that kid got glassed in the last bar
Place went nuts, you can ask our Lou
It was madness, road ran red, pure claret
And about them immigrants? I can't stand them
Mostly, I mind my own business
They're only coming over here to get rich, it's a sickness
England! England! Patriotism!
And you wonder why kids want to die for religion?
It goes work all your life for a pittance
Maybe you'll make it to manager, pray for a raise
Cross the beige days off on your beach babe calendar
The anarchists are desperate for something to smash
Scandalous pictures of fashionable rappers
In glamourous magazines, who's dating who?
Politico cash in an envelope
Caught sniffing lines off a prostitutes prosthetic tits
Now it's back to the House of Lords with slapped wrists
They abduct kids who fuck the heads of dead pigs
But him in a hoodie with a couple of spliffs
Jail him, he's the criminal
Jail him, he's the criminal
It's the bored-of-it-all generation
The product of product placement and manipulation
Shoot 'em up, brutal, duty of care
Come on, new shoes, beautiful hair, bullshit
Saccharine ballads and selfies and selfies and selfies
And here's me outside the palace of me
Construct a self and psyhcosis
Meanwhile the people were dead in their droves
And no, nobody noticed, well, some of them noticed
You could tell by the emoji they posted
Sleep like a gloved hand covers our eyes
The lights are so nice and bright and let's dream
But some of us are stuck like stones in a slipstream
What am I gonna do to wake up?
We are lost, we are lost, we are lost
And still nothing will stop, nothing pauses
We have ambitions and friendships and our courtships to think of
Divorces to drink off the thought of
The money, the money, the oil
The planet is shaking and spoiled
And life is a plaything
A garment to soil
The toil, the toil
I can't see an ending at all
Only the end
How is this something to cherish?
When the tribesmen are dead in their deserts
To make room for alien structures
Develop, develop
And kill what you find if it threatens you
No trace of love in the hunt for the bigger buck
Here in the land where nobody gives a fuck
Thank you, Kae. One day I'll be just as good as you, but in my own special way.
✌️+ ❤️
Omar