It wasn’t a river  
just a pool,
more of a hotub,
set off from the sanctuary—
and when I was eased
into  the water
I didn’t see God
in the streams above.

And I didn’t see her
lost in the thunder
of the racetrack
just beyond the church.

She was beyond
my line of sight,
soaking up congratulations
from the congregation.

The pastor gave me
a gentle pat on my back,
shook my hand, three times,
handed me a towel
and welcomed me to the flock.

I was just another sinner saved
and left to go his own way,
certain in the faith
that God will provide.

She said she would meet
me back at her place
after the potluck.

I wrang the towel
of every last drop
and  handed it
back to her.

I walked back to
my old white Civic,
turned it over
and felt the
cool Jesus breeze
of the A/C hit my face.

The voice inside
told me to do the
first thing I heard
on the radio.

I heard Ray Charles
in his blindness
croon to me:

“Hit the road Jack
and don't you come back
No more, no more, no more, no more.

Hit the road Jack
and don't you come back
No more.”

Place one hand on my shoulder
and guide my head under
You welcomed me to the world
so let me drown at your fault
Smile at me faintly as the waves
ripple over my eyes and fill my lungs
Like a babe being baptised
you hold the back of my skull
Now, not to keep me from drowning
but to show me your gentle touch
As my body erupts in panic, I flail
I feel your love
And for the slights you caused
I feel your sorrow
But I am too far gone, no longer
needing your hands to keep me afloat
Or to hold me under

bap·​tism: an act, experience, or ordeal by which one is purified, sanctified, initiated, or named.

floating in the vacuous flow of time -
endless whispers and murmurs,
trying to figure out which thoughts are mine,
and which thoughts are planted by others.

overwhelmed by the idea of being perceived.
to relinquish control or to take control?
we are nothing but one individual
in the sea of billions.

who's to say that this is worth our time?
who's to say that we have purpose?
i need a baptism to purify, to sanctify, to initiate, to name myself.
to find purpose in this ocean of nothingness.

Lawrence Hall HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                          The Baptism of Valaria Elizabeth

At the Altar
The young couple presented their first-born
Valaria Elizabeth, wrapped in a silvery gown
A happy child at play in the holy Jordan

At the Altar
Valaria Elizabeth, delightful in herself
Was glorious in white with many colors trimmed
And skillful stitchings as befit a queen

At the Altar
Someone asked Valaria’s dear mother
Did you craft this gown with love and thread?

“No, I bought it just yesterday,” she sweetly said

                        Welcome with love, Valaria Elizabeth!

I'm not all that good,
I'm not all that bad,
Maybe one day,
I'm as bad as a person can be,
Maybe on another day,
I'm one of the best you can meet,

Raised in a small town,
Where people gossip
from sun up to sun down,
Brought up poor in a broken
family, only added more,

When I'm out and about,
I get those judgemental stares,
with whispers of, "she's hopeless,
she's beyond repair,

I get worked up so
I purposely give them a reason to
gasp for air,

Of course they all claim to be Christians,
The type that choose clean blue water
to be baptised in,
But I was baptised in muddy water
and I'm glad to say," hey listen up,
I was baptised in muddy water so
I guess that makes me too ***** for
your kind?"

Then I smile to myself because
I know  something they must not,
JESUS WAS BAPTISED IN MUDDY
WATERS, as well.
I imagine it kind of went like this:
Upon meeting Jesus, John said: "I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me? I imagine Jesus told John it was only right to do so, I can imagine John trying to convince Jesus to at least let him find cleaner waters but Jesus knew so He refused.

You see in the time of Jesus’s baptism, the Jordan river and surrounding areas was no less than now, a river full of muck, *****, muddy, and gross looking, you can’t see two inches into it today nor could you then.

These very people called Christians are the same people who judge so harshly, through the centuries they've compared Jesus's baptism to our own,  with an understandable preference for the clear waters of a Blue Hole over the muddy waters of the Jordan and beyond,

So yeah, I'm all messed up in the head,
Better the head than the heart,
But you've already judged my part.

So if you ever run out stuff to gossip about, just think back and remember,
the small town girl that was baptised in muddy water.
- Author Ven J Arnold / SacredInkedBlood

you hold me under the water
until my lungs scream out for air
you know i cannot hold my breath forever,
don't you?

you hold me under the water
in a perverse baptism
the one i worship delivers me to death

you hold me under the water
one hand buried in my hair
the other firmly on my neck
i have no choice but to choke

you hold me under the water
and i do not struggle to break from your grip
you were always stronger than me
and a part of me has always wanted this

you hold me under the water
and fill my mouth with the sea
i swallow, even as i know
to drink is to die

you hold me under the water
gently, as a lover would
it won't be long now
before i become one with the ocean

i am aware that you are speaking to me
but i cannot hear you over the crashing of the waves
when your work is finished and you wade away
there will be no blood on your hands

I saunter parallel to these pews,
dragging my fraying fingers along the tops.
Reaching for a wooden comfort, but
instead I’m pricked.
I shake the splinter and splutter the blood off.
Wearing my head high, I finish my descent
up the holy steps.
My mother stands,
stuck
looking past me and out the stained window,
letting it strike her into a silhouette.
The priest exclaims
New Beginnings!
My mother
matches his declaration two seconds too late.
My dad nods his head,
the final vote of the jury locked in.

With guilt and god on my side,
I take the holy plunge.
My head falls in,
harshly.
I’m aching for a numinous experience,
only to suffocate from the darkness
that comes with this reality
I will breathe into.
My head may be under the aquatic illusion of renewal
but my feet stay planted on the
fractured  ground.

I am forced to look past the daze of illusion.
Because in the light
I can clearly see the greys left in our destruction.
I look back and my finger has bled
all over the back of this dress.
New Beginnings!
I exclaim,
with a red stain grained into my backside,
but an empty canvas in the front.

With my hair slicked back I hear a
mumble.
You look just like your mother,
And maybe I do
hold her eyes
but I can see
what she can not.
The graying dreams that my parents are dis alluded to.
Their skeletons in the attic or the
boxes of dresses in the basement,
even though today I wear one.
I will look at the destruction created behind us
and not walk with them.

Because in this holy light
her eyes bask and only look
chocolate at its best.
And in this dim shadow
mine shine like amber honey.

halo, halo
flooded by musky greens
that wipe out the bitterness
to your taste
hands tight on my waste
and lifting me
to sit on a shredded pillow
the window open
the walls damp
the chill once again comforts me
embracing an icy touch
you cut my hair
a head of bleach falls to the floor
my black roots remain
fragile breaths come from the trees
awakening once more
creeping their branches into the room
creeping under my tunic
the sky clears and I am soft
the pillow empties of its feathers
removing the inside
releasing the weight