Free Writing

So I'm standing, right, with my finger on the pulse as is if it's all about to explode into sparks and starshower. Like jets of flame are going to lap up and around the throat like tongues or fingers or vines or some other kind of music or art.

It feels hot, warm to the touch like a penny out of a fire for a halfsecond, I can't quite get my head around it, I can't quite get my heart around my head, I can't quite get my fingers off the pulse.

The truth of the vitality in my fingertips so softly chirruping is that it's abrupt. It ends quickly, and comes from nowhere. It's a human emotion called 'love', since it's the only one bright enough to light the tunnels of the arteries so that the blood can find the heart; without it we'd be a lot colder; a lot slower. Our blood would be lost and our hearts would beat less.

But love works best out of water. Or at least in another. The love that's the brightest, that shows the way best, isn't the stuff in you. It's the stuff someone else puts there: Love is a short-thoughted creature; it won't stay bright when bored. But if it jumps into someone else from the warmth of a caress, suddenly you've got a body full of stars to navigate by.

And that concludes today's sermon, children. Remember; there is no God as great as love, no matter what the bible, the Qu'Ran, Mr. Stanley from up the road and your own great Doubtdevil say.

If someone doesn't love, they have no right to call themselves a believer in anything. The blind can't lead the whole.