I was in the Spirit and I was shown a vision ... of a prophet and a shooter: Upon a crime scene; its ground crying out in anger and offense, desecrated and polluted by blood and semen, A prophet, servant of God, the Utterly Other, Original Love, the Source of Righteousness, stood high upon its aching ground. Around the prophet, surrounding the servant, a crowd, sick in heart to death few assaulted, all stalked by Death, crying out in anger and offense. The Prophet speaks: Life to Death! I say choose life! Beat your guns into power lines: And cast out the gunmakers and their pimps. Burn your dope in the fire of hope And shut off the hustlers of profits. Embrace one another in vulnerability And release the controllers from their need. Feast upon the good life God gives you, And send the sculpture of Aphrodite to Sheol. Bleed no more, revel in blood no more And blank the media and come to the mountain top. Celebrate your diversity of gender, orientation, and race And release the bigots from their fear and hate. Send Death packing! Cry out to its prophets and disciples! Come to the mountain top! Profit no more! Consume no more! Control no more... POP! POP! The prophet staggers. The crowd sways. They cry out, "get the shooter!" Swift, blurred movement within a falling in -- a cry of triumph -- a yell of blood: vengeance is ours! The prophet standing high on the bloodsoaked ground cries, "don't hurt him!" and wades into the crowd, parting it like the Red Sea. The prophet, servant of Divine Life, kneels and bodily covers the shooter from harm. They embrace, blood to blood -- and Death shutters brightens for a moment, then flees into a dark, dank hole. Amen.
©1999, John A. Mills