C’est Pas Suffit.

It’s the dichotomy that screams, “release me, release me,” so that it can be judged.
It can be seen doing good or doing evil as it pleases, according to those primitive diseases.
And I think, “I want to be primitive; to be the basest of beasts.”
To surrender to that of the romanticists, so that Rousseau and Emile and I could have fireside chats.
So then our Heavenly Father could look me in the eyes and say, “at least you did this with passion.”
And then I will turn on that metaphoric Bunsen burner and heat up my life, and God knows I’ll never be lukewarm again.
Goodbye, then, you seven not cold but not hot churches of lore; my body is a temple, and it wants the sacrifices that it wants.
And today it wants drastic action, and so commands me, “do what I tell you.”
He commands me to be primitive.

But thinking back on how we got here, I sure as hell notice the pattern.
We merry men, we young few blessed youth, we think of life now as the search for a partner.
Then we become devastated by a woman, and in recoil think of life as the pursuit of pleasure.
Then we take that godly step back and crucify our consciences.
We burn our old ways, drive nails through the wrists and ankles of how we spent our old days.
Then we drag our lives through the ecclesiastical dictionary, screaming, “freedom from the flesh.”

But excuse me, Saint Augustine.
Sexuality is a hard-wired into our skins.
So no matter how hard we try to repress our physicality, it rends and destroys the cage bars.
It gets what it wants.
No matter how much we fight it and we hate it, we all love sex.
No matter how much little boys are disgusted by it, they all love little girls.
Men love women, and women love men.
And, I am sorry holy bishop, Song of Solomon is full of intimacy, whether you teach it in church or not.

So what than is the balance between Christ and carnal?
Should I be a celibate priest, who burns adulteresses and whores at the stake?
Should I be hungry man, who lives only for flesh, like a savage?
Which is more unholy, the overzealous religious criminal, written about by the Holy Roman imperialists?
Or the noble savage, who rapes and burns and pillages to fill his body’s demands?
How do I merge my faith and my flesh?
All of the theological debate is seemingly rendered unpractical, and so the dichotomy of good and evil wages its eternal war indefinitely.

Donc c’est pas suffit.