Priestlike Guts

Today will be a day of many fruits and vegetables, I've decided, out of curiosity of what might happen to my priestlike guts if I give them the fresh offerings rather than the burnt offerings they've come to expect.

You realize I have the spleen of a cardinal and the gall bladder of an archbishop; I have the nuts of fundamentalist preacher and the cock of an angry-at-God saint. My lungs draw up the breath like a local chaplain draws up the collection plate, knowing that it'll all be distributed back out to the parts to keep the temple moving.

My heart belongs to jesus/buddha/raven/balder but my mind is very much my own.

That's why my prayers all sound whiny, an undercurrent of God-what-do-You-want-now? feel to them. Perhaps a diet one day of fruits and vegetables might turn my priestlike guts into the guts of a pornographer. Tonight I'll see if my wife will accept a different sacrament.

Lightning might come from my fingertips and burn down the church. Written words are lightning. I could burn you where you stand. So stand back.