My Name Is Prophet...

Posted by Scott Utley on November 06, 19105 at 19:56:19:

... but they call me, Hey You! I am a penniless drifter,

Shod poorly, diseased and despised. I sing for a seat near

the hall down the path to the shed used by swine. I'm

gleeful with joy for any place to dine. Crafty by

circumstance, I am blessed with a spark of divine mind. I

trade hope for shelter. I barter truth for a comfortable

lie. I feel privileged, indeed, honored to share my most

cherished possession with whatever lurking beast or saint

there may come a-knocking on the door of my rice-paper

heart. That possession I speak of is my inner light, my

love, the most powerful force in the universe. More often

than not, I possess neither food nor shelter. But light has

never let me down. My huckster mind can convince me

otherwise, nevertheless, shyster thoughts be damned.

Belief does not make an invidious fantasy real. Those

evenings I’m cold, angry, and lonely, rejected, filled with

remorse for coming to this place in the first place, are

the same evenings I forget to be grateful. On these

occasions, nights crawl painfully slow to that trickster

called dawn. What I lack in essentials I make up in wisdom.

Vagabond wisdom is priceless. So I give it away for free. I

must. Like my father before me, I stand hunched-back, just

as his father before him. My deformed stoop is the result

of an incalculable weight I carry upon my shoulders. My

mother was born in Hell’s Kitchen. My father was orphaned

at the age of two in the dank Mississippi poverty that

knows no equal. Tragic obstacles for both of them, to be

sure, but triumphantly overcome with comparative ease; if

you're Merlin, that is. But even born deformed and

senseless is easier to bear than this weight, this soul

numbing weight. I fear the worst should I stumble or fall.

I fear for the innocents striding between land and the

cobalt blue seas. When I fear it’s because I’ve abandoned

gratitude. Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my

connection to God. It is easiest then to dismiss divine

light as a dreamer’s hallucinations run amok. And I do.

Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.