God Particles by James Crews

I could almost hear their soft collisions
on the cold air today, but when I came in,

shed my layers and stood alone by the fire,
I felt them float toward me like spores

flung far from their source, having crossed
miles of oceans and fields unknown to most

just to keep my body fixed to its place
on the earth. Call them God if you must,

these messengers that bring hard evidence
of what I once was and where I have been—

filling me with bits of stardust, whaleskin,
goosedown from the pillow where Einstein

once slept, tucked in his cottage in New Jersey,
dreaming of things I know I’ll never see.

–

“I remember hearing about an old comic strip back in the days of St. Ed’s. Two guys are talking to each other, and one of them says he has a question for God. He wants to ask why God allows all of this poverty and war and suffering to exist in the world. And his friend says, “Well, why don’t you ask?” The fellow shakes his head and says he’s scared. When his friend asks why, he mutters, “I’m scared God will ask me the same question.”

In my sickness, but not in health

Hopeless wanderer I am, and a hopeless wanderer I fear I will remain.
My legs, my feet, they have led me astray. Break them.
Break my bones, that I may not walk away from You.
For in my pain, I will cry out to you. Leave me broken.
If I am healed, I may leave.
Leave me here, Lord. Leave me in my weakness.
Leave me in your constant need. I should need you.
I should want you always.

Hopeless wanderer I am, and a hopeless wanderer I fear I will remain.
Blind me, God. My eyes cause me to look away from all You have to show me.
Leave me blind, so I can not see the things of this World that lead me away.
I should only look to you, Lord. I do not deserve my sight.
When I can not see, I will cry out to you. Leave me blind.
If I am healed, I may leave.
Leave me here, Lord. Leave me in my weakness.
Leave me in your constant need. I should need you.
I should want you always.

Hopeless wanderer I am, and a hopeless wanderer I fear I will remain.
Break my heart, dear Lord.
My heart is filled. It has left no room for You.
Break my heart and rid me of all that is not of You.
Break my heart now, before my condition worsens.
For in my pain, I will cry out to you. Leave me in pain.
If I am healed, I may leave.
Leave me here, Lord. Leave me in my weakness.
Leave me in your constant need. I should need you.
I should want you always.

In my weakness, I need you.
In my strength, I may leave.

Universe, is that you?

So I’ve been trying to move back to NY for two months.
Two months. Which may not seem like a great amount of time, but it literally feels like I have been going through hell and back to sublease my apartment.
Which lead me to think the Universe is giving me “a sign.”
I am one of those people who believe that your life is based on your decisions, and the decisions of those around you. I used to believe in fate and destiny, but life has led me to believe that there is no fate, no predestined design. You wake up in the morning, you get dealt a hand and you make the best of it. However, every attempt at moving I have made has been thwarted. Subleasing is hard, but it’s not THAT hard. For me, it’s been damn near impossible…and it got me thinking.
Is the universe (or God, or some larger cosmic power in control of everything) preventing me from moving? Are all my failed attempts of subleasing my apartment really part of some greater design to get me to stay where I am? Does the Universe have something planned for me? Is there something I am supposed to experience that I have not yet? Why can’t I just go home? WHAT IS THE DEAL?!
Normally, I would dismiss this idea. However, I’ve decided to go with it (for now.) I’ll stay where I am and try to change what I can. All I know is, something AMAZING better happen or I am going to be so, so mad.
Universe,God, large cosmic power in control of everything, I am listening and waiting. So……

from what I remember

I remember thinking I was going to love you. I knew it as soon as the spark hit.
“I’m going to love this kid.”
I remember hoping and praying, literally praying that you would love me back. Even if it wasn’t at that moment in time. I knew in my heart that we should have loved each other. I knew it. I keep trying to tell myself that I made that up, that I actually had no idea what I was talking about back then because of how it is now. But I don’t care. I knew it.
I remember knowing you loved me, and I remember thinking you were so embarrassed to. Like loving me was something you didn’t want to do, or planned to do or wanted anyone to know. I tried to tell myself that you needed time to get used to the idea, because you were going to know one day that we should love each other, non-stop. That’s the love I had for you… non-stop. It’s like I couldn’t stop. Even when I wanted to. I prayed that it would stop. Every night. I prayed and cried that I could stop. But I never did. You always told me you couldn’t stop loving me either. And I would think to myself, “See. I knew we should love each other. I knew it.”
I remember thinking we were going to see the World, and once we saw it, we could change it. In so many ways. I thought that’s what God was really telling me. You said you felt that, too. I remember thinking I could be with you anywhere, ANYWHERE as long as we were changing the World. I never had that before. I never had someone make me think that I had a partner in crime to really get to the heart of people and change it. I remember when we used to talk about the Bible and what we thought God was going to do in our lives. I just had to be a part of whatever it was God wanted you to do, because I knew it would be big. I wanted to be right there, thick as thieves. I remember feeling like we were really best friends, and that at one point in time, it wouldn’t matter if we weren’t going to end up together, because the love we had as friends was so much stronger. You were my best friend, which is probably why trying not to love you was so damn near impossible.
I am trying to remember more, but every time I try to, I start to cry, and it becomes too hard to stop. I always wipe my tears and think to myself,
“How could I have been so wrong?”

glory to the newborn king (revision)

(I decided to rewrite a previous story I wrote earlier this month. I was not too crazy about the first one. This one I can live with. Hope you like it.)

I was lifeless. With my face buried in my cold hands, I continued to kneel on small steps, covered by a carpet of artless blue and purple patterns. The carpet was saturated in, “I am so sorry. Please forgive me” tears, just like my face. Being here night after night was becoming nonsensical. There was no more resolution. I was indignant, frozen, and hollow. As I raised my head surveyed my surroundings, I saw so many others kneeling with their faces buried in their hands. Everyone appeared to be so … desperate. A sea of people wanting to feel, something. Whether or not anyone does is not for me to say. But I knew I did not, and it reduced me to tears. As I walked to the pew to grab my belongings, I could not stop thinking about him. His name was Stephen. We had met at a bar, and while exchanging carnal glances and feral touches, his words penetrated deep into my mind. About a week ago, I brought him with me to the bland altar carpet. When I raised my head to see if he was finding comfort, he was no longer next to me. Stephen, who I was sure was filled with iniquities, was sitting quietly in a pew. He had no tears – he had no outstretched arms. Yet he was staring at me, with somber eyes. I rose to my feet and sat next to him. “Stephen, why weren’t you at the altar? I thought you would have stayed there” I said, slightly perplexed.
From the first night at the bar, I got the sense that Stephen was absolved of all his sins. He had a sense of liberation about him, an unmoored spirit that I assumed came from salvation (with a capital S.) But I could see it in his eyes that being here, seeing all of the others and myself, left him befuddled, far more than any amount of alcohol ever had.
“Erica, have you heard of Friedrich Nietzsche?
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Well I read something we wrote. He said God is dead, and I agree. We killed him. So why are we here?”
I knew exactly what he was referring to. I wanted to tell him I thought he may have missed the point of that statement, but something inside of me compelled me to let him continue.
“Remember when you told me you felt like a portrait that god forgot to finish?”
“Yes” I said. I slowly lowered my gaze from his eyes to my hands that were resting in my lap. I told him that the night we met at the bar, I was hoping he would have forgotten it.
“Well you said you really wanted to start finishing it, your way. You said you were sick of waiting for God to give you answer. That you had different beliefs, different convictions, and how amazing it felt that you thought of new ways to live your life. You were saying you stopped thinking like all of the others and you thought for yourself.” His voice was stern now. I just wanted to stop him and yell, “Of all the things I said to you that night, this is what you remembered?!” But I was speechless, and he kept going.
“Look, that night at the bar, you were real. Regardless if you were drunk or not. A real portrait. Whatever you were painting that night, it was beguiling. I bet you add to it every night, every time you expand your mind. But right now, seeing you like this, it’s like watching you trying to destroy that portrait. This, none of this is real to you anymore… I know it. I suggest you stop trying to destroy what you created here, because God is dead, and you should stop trying to change it. It’s not the time or place. I don’t know if that what Nietzsche was saying, but that’s what I’m saying to you. Besides… you look so beautiful every time you dip the paintbrush and add another weird and fucked up color to yourself. Better than any altar carpet I know. This place is a graveyard. Go live.”
The more I thought about what he said to me, the faster I began walking out of the church. I soon found myself sprinting towards my car. I sped off down the street, over the train tracks and to the same bar I met Stephen. That was where I wanted to be. I ordered a Grateful Dead, it seemed fitting. As I began to sip on my drink, I suddenly I heard a voice whisper in my ear.
“Shouldn’t you be at church or something?” It was Stephen, as he cracked the same smirk he gave me the first time we mad eye contact.
“Church?” I chuckled. “Why would I be there? God is dead. Duh.”
As he grazed my leg, I stared into his mossy green eyes and said, “I feel… animated.”
As the night passed, a series of hues and dimethyltryptamine exploded from my brain. I could feel the colors fuse together my heart and mind.

glory to the newborn king

face down on small steps, which are covered by a carpet of artless blue and purple patterns.

the carpet is saturated in, “I am so sorry. Please forgive me” tears, just like my face.
I look up around and see Stephen. Stephen, who I am sure is filled with iniquities, is sitting quietly in the pew. He has no tears and is mindlessly playing on his cell phone. I rise to my feet and sit next to him and I say, “Stephen, why weren’t you at the altar? I was expecting you.”
Stephen, seemingly absolved of all his sins, laughs and puts in phone in his pocket.
“Erica, have you heard of Friedrich Nietzsche?
“Yeah. Of course.”
“Well I read what he said, you know, that God is dead. And I agree. We killed him and you can’t ask the dead to love you or forgive you. God is dead. So stop crying.”

I wipe my face. “My tears are real, Stephen. That means something. Loving God is real.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He pauses for a moment, looks up at me and says, “Remember when you told me you felt like a portrait that god forgot to finish?”
“Yes” I said, as tears began to fill up in my eyes again.
“Well you said you really wanted to start finishing it, your way. I think that’s when you killed God. You thought you and God would be happier if he were dead and that you could save yourself. That you thought that’s what he ultimately wanted. But it’s like you forgot you killed him, so you keep coming back to this altar and asking where he is. You keep trying to right your wrongs, but who decided any of it was wrong?”
“God and his church. That’s why I am here.”
“But Erica, you stopped thinking like them and you thought for yourself when you killed God. But it looks like when you stepped into the unknown you got scared. I don’t blame you. You thought you needed him to save you from the unknown, because that’s what you’ve always been told. Whatever you were painting, it was beguiling. I suggest you start setting your own rules again. I suggest you start living and painting again because God is dead, and you should stop trying to fix it. It’s not the time or place. I don’t know if that what Nietzsche was saying, but that’s what I’m saying to you. Besides… you look so beautiful every time you dip the paintbrush and add another weird and fucked up color to yourself. Better than any altar carpet I know.”

I hold back my tears and follow him outside to smoke a cigarette.
“Come home with me” he says. “I want to show you something.”
So I did. And now I am outside on his balcony, smoking another cigarette.
I laid with him; our bodies intertwined and a series of hues and dimethyltryptamine exploded from my brain. I’m not sure of what will come of us, and I do not care. But I fell animated again.
It was exactly what I wanted.

play crack the sky

we were falling from grace.
the moment you deiced to walk out of Heaven’s sacrosanct doors, you thought your existence would become extravagant. an unparalleled moment in the history of time, leaving all of your insubstantial memories behind. You had read many books from Earth and taught yourself of the worlds beyond that hallowed institution. You had hoped to be floating through luminescent cerulean skies that no one else in Heaven could create but yourself. You knew you could have the power on your own. You left God’s grace to find your own.
you were falling from grace.
I had been resting on a small cloud not far from God. I had been waiting for Him out of cowardice – I was told by His angels to wait no matter how many nights I may lay awake, wanting to know why He arranged the stars in such a way. But God never came to talk to me – He never even showed His face. So I wept, and decided to sway my body off of my nebula of dissatisfaction. I left God’s grace because it never showed.
-I was falling from grace.
we met in the sky. I did not know you before this, but I knew we were falling from the same place, I could see the light leaving your eyes. You told me they were once as pure and brown as an unvarnished oak. I watched the color fade and it began to unnerve me. You would not let me look away. You said my eyes were a deep brown like winter trees at twilight, but they were fading too.
And you told me God sent an angel to follow you and together you found a star to rest on. Loving her made you forget you were falling and you thought she was your saving grace. But she took it away when she told you she did not love you. Now the sky was as downcast as your heart and you leaped off the star and now you were falling again, but faster. And I told you I had loved an angel who left the Heavens for the Earth and was trapped there forever and grew to forget me. The pain caused me to fall faster, too.
We were falling from grace.
You reached out to me and wrapped your arms around my body. I held you tight and I whispered to you, “maybe grace is farce and love is spurious, we could be falling straight to Hell but falling has brought me to you.”
You whispered back, “I think I could love you.” I wanted to tell you I thought I could love you, too.
–We ARE FALLING FROM GRACE.
We are disregarding the truth – we had fallen from grace and we are still falling. Hopelessly suspended in the dark air of uncertainty with no stop in sight. We are covered in lacerations, left open to bleed us dry as the weather continues to change as rapidly as our hearts. Some may look in the sky on their weakest days and see us as fire and brimstone, and they will cry out to God for His mercy. Some may look up during a cool summer evening and see us crossing the sky at breakneck speeds like shooting stars, and they will wish for life not knowing we are already dead. We could be trapped in the skies until Heaven and Earth pass away.
But I think I could love you.

We are falling from grace.

I’m sure he would think differently.

maybe I’ll get drunk again..

So I’ve been drinking, and I’ve been thinking. Sometimes I forget how captivating and strong lust is. The real biological urge to rip someone’s clothes off and have your way with them. I’ve spent many years trying to suppress those urges out of guilt and shame. For Christ’s sake, I took a purity class. I once dedicated my body and mind to a God I was not sure even truly cared for it. I was raised to believe that I am supposed to wear white on my wedding day like a badge of honor. “I made it to my wedding night. I remained pure. Damnit, I fought the good fight.”

But now that I’ve separated myself from the faith I was raised in and it’s shackled beliefs, can I embrace my randiness? Can I stop laying in my bed asking the God I’ve served for 20 years for forgiveness? How about I just embrace what comes natural to me and wake up with a smile on my face. Can I stop feeling locked down by my urges? Shouldn’t sexuality be a liberating, not binding experience? What if I never get married? Am I supposed to die a virgin, never knowing the pleasures my body naturally desires? You can show me every scripture in the bible about waiting until marriage, but I promise you that’s not what this god had intended for his people. Biblical interpretations are so off (but I’ll save that for another day.)

Some nights, especially lately, I just lay on my floor listening to the rain. My eyelids are shut tight, and I am dead to everything around me except the rain. Although here is a roof between us, the rain and I, there’s something transcendent between us. I hear it, I taste it, I can feel it’s touch, I smell it, and yet with eyes closed, I can see it. Yet, the roof is between us. That’s how I feel about hankering for physicality. I hear it, I taste it, I can feel it’s touch, I smell it, and yet with eyes closed, I can see it. And yet there is a roof, some sort of barrier between us. My conditioned mind to remain “pure” for love.
Then, you met someone who ignites that urgency in your body. Whether or not it’s love, it doesn’t really matter. You can not help but wonder which of your five senses are going to be set ablaze by the consummation of your lust. You wonder what you are going to crave the most; their touch, their smell, their sounds, their taste, and how it might look once you let yourself go. But that roof is still there. That roof of “purity”; the chastity you’ve held so tightly close to you that even in the right moment (i.e. your wedding night) you can not let it go. You can not break through that barrier. How is that fair? You sit there and tell me that’s what God intended.. for everyone to feel so inhibited and chastised for wanting their physical longing to be released. You’re wrong! You’re so ridiculously wrong. I’m not promoting promiscuity, in the sense that every sexual urge and impulse you have, you jump on it (no pun intended). Actually you know what, so what? If someone wants to explore their body with as many bodies as they choose, who are we to say anything? Who am I to judge someone for releasing their ardor for sex?

As I sit here, I wonder how much longer until my roof will cave in. Month by month, year by year it chisels away at itself. Guilt is becoming a noun and no longer a verb. So I ask myself, how much longer do I have pretend that I do not long for someone to touch my skin so deeply that they might as well be crawling into my veins? When can I let someone’s pheromones be released into my body so that I shut my self off to anything but that chemical? Can someone please set my passion on fire and watch me burn? For I long to dance upon the ashes of my former self.
Yet I still long for the forgiveness from the deity I once called my Heavenly Father. I still allow my heart to be consumed with guilt for even thinking this way. Can I long for someone’s body to laced with mine, and not forever, but yet a moment in time? Night after night I scream for complacency. Yet, I fear that I must ultimately choose the side I was so desperate to avoid…

And you, good sir, when will you kiss me?