by the sights and the sounds and the million images a minute that flow in, through, and around me, even, it seems, when I sleep. I am an organic creature in an electric world. I was created from earth but I live on cement. I was made to walk in the sun but I am often little more than the soft guts of a machine.
I have reached my capacity and still push comes to shove. I remember simplicity but only through a digital haze. I am a person trying not to be a product, a soul trying to avoid the status of commodity. I am slated to be emptied and recycled like a tin can with eyes, an old car when the heartbeat fails or a new one comes along.
Yet I resist. Even the anxiety of the world is a kind of resistance, the sense of a sea of humanity holding on to something higher even as they are being marched to the ovens. Something higher, something better flashes in and out of our consciousness and it will not go away even as our masters say “Move along, there’s nothing to see here.”
Jesus is resistance to everything inhuman within and without. When they come to stamp my forehead it is His life that will say “no”. When they ask me to die in their wars. When they call on me to spend my money to pay for my own imprisonment. When they show me the kingdoms of this world and say this is desirable. I will refuse because I have seen the Light beyond darkness and have nowhere else to go but there.
Maranatha.
The Beautiful Path 