In my last post, I talked about our desert experience with God. Some Christian mystics call it “the dark night of the soul”. Here’s a poem about what the beginning of that experience may look like for you:
UNPLUGGED FROM THE MATRIX
He was quite respectful
And played by the rules.
He honored as wisdom
The prattling of fools.
Their message was solemn –
It sounded like faith,
But smelled like religion,
And tasted like death.
They laid out a table
With wine and with bread –
The more that he ate it,
The more he felt dead.
Fed up with that hustle,
He tore up the deed.
He made Irish exit,
And went off the grid.
Unplugged from the matrix,
Hurt, lonely, and cold,
No longer well-fitting
In anyone’s mold,
Confused, disenchanted,
He got off the train,
And just stood for hours
In merciless rain.
Fellow travelers – welcome to the desert of the real!
Terminal Salvation 
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