When I had never seen the scriptures encrypted in the leaves of trees When I had never heard the hymns hummed in harmony by a caccophony of bees Before I came to see that elders are angels sent to watch over me I used to worship in the temple I used to sacrifice in the sanctuary. But in my youth I got the gospel truth from a blade of grass And witnessed the wisdom of the water running in my bath And wind was my religion telling the future of my past I used to worship in the temple I used to recite psalms in the synagogue Until a woman who had a way with words that made me want to do away with words Performed her poetry on me without saying a single word Strumming sonnets on the strings that sing the song of my manhood Strumming sonnets on the strings that sing the song of my soul as good as worshipping in the temple I used to worship in the temple I used to worship in the temple I used to take offerings to the altar until my alter ego let me know he was no hero at all And I saw Spring spread her legs for summer when it rolled, man, Winter fell in love with Fall As an unborn butterfly tried to find himself inside his self-spun cocoon. Just as I had way back when I used to worship in the womb Where I discovered my mother’s perspiration possessed the power to liberate Developing nations, for she baptized five boys she baptized five boys with seven tongues of thunder and resurrected my cousin crucified from the cocaine grave he was under when he used to worship in the temple I used to worship in the temple I used to worship in the temple I used to sing sermons in the mosque Where karma couldn’t catch a cab on the corner of the cross Unless she double-crossed Krishna for thirty pieces of Shiva and meditated with mantras under mangos and contemplated Siddhartha and the ver kangol Cause a Kangol looks like a halo on a Negro whenever we go out to eat angel hair pasta or sit beside a Rasta Blasting reggae remixes of Rumi on his radio and translating revelations back into Ebonics from Ibo before chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo… Which is just ancient jive For everything is everything Cause everything says so So holy water is no holier than the water in your well right now And church bells are no holier than cowry shells on the ground And rosary beads are no holier than dime-bags of weed somehow And yesterday and tomorrow are no holier than Now Cause now and then Buddha be comin’ back in the newborn body of a blue-black baby And St. Mary is blind, crippled and crazy living out of a box like an old bag lady And Chango shoots up tornadoes to shoot the breeze with Jesus Christ and Persephone and Vodum, a menage-a-trois moon as soon as you go to bed at night but I see Skies of blue Have you gotten the gospel truth from a blade of grass? Clouds of white And witnessed the wisdom of the water running in your bath? Bright blessed days And is wind your religion telling the future of your past? Dark sacred nights I used to worship in the temple and sacrifice in the sanctuary And I think to myself I used to worship in the temple and take offerings to the altar What a wonderful world I used to worship in the temple and sing sermons in the mosque And I think to myself I used to worship in the temple and recite psalms in the synagogue What a wonderful world I used to worship in the temple I used to worship in the temple I used to worship the temple I used to worship the temple Until I realized Everything around me... is God
Posted on: Thu, 25 Jul 2013 08:30:36 +0000