and the gate (imagnified mix)
Joel Frijters
Hello All,
Blessing your heads and may the light that lights your path be ever strong.
Enjoy!
Full lyric below:
I saw a priest one morning, cross hanging heavy like a verdict on his chest— said the truth was nailed down and the doors were closed and the map… Well it was bless-éd. But I been out walking with the wind and the worms, and I swear on the silence there’s a pulse in the dirt that don’t follow the rules, don’t carry credentials, don’t need a seminary seat to sing hallelujah with your feet.
The path was always underfoot… just overgrown, over-scripted, over-owned. While the Spirit moved barefoot in the marrow and the stone.
Like that Master-Meister once spake “I pray God to rid me of God.” Not because I’m done believing, but because I want to start seeing. See, the kingdom’s not coming. It came. It’s compost and sunrise and that second breath you take when you thought you were too tired to keep praying. We were taught God was above, the world below, and us somewhere between— like awkward guests at a wedding we didn’t know to which we were invited. But the wind don’t split or spit the sacred from the profane. It just… blows. Where it pleases. No dog on a bone dogma. No fog run up the flagpole. Just breath… on the water.
The Gate was never locked… It rusted from disuse. And the garden’s got wild now, but oh—it still bears fruit.
Kneel in the nettles— bread and wine still bloom… The Gate was never locked… Just closed and lost foresooth.
We made creeds from fear. Drew lines in the sand, forgot how to listen to the hum in our hands.
But Hey-Zeus was a walker. A path-lifter. A dust-kicker. He healed with spit and silence, with mud in the eye, a truth you can’t print— only live, only try.
Don’t tell me what the Way is. Just show me in your hot breath. Don’t chant me the doctreen— whisper what you felt when you stood in the river and knew you were held…
So if you’re out there, walking the wild in doubt and devotion, trading certainty for motion, know this: The map they gave you was helpful until it wasn’t.
The garden is bigger. The wind is wiser. And the gate—
I swear on every breath you and I have got— it was never locked.
Blessing your heads and may the light that lights your path be ever strong.
Enjoy!
Full lyric below:
I saw a priest one morning, cross hanging heavy like a verdict on his chest— said the truth was nailed down and the doors were closed and the map… Well it was bless-éd. But I been out walking with the wind and the worms, and I swear on the silence there’s a pulse in the dirt that don’t follow the rules, don’t carry credentials, don’t need a seminary seat to sing hallelujah with your feet.
The path was always underfoot… just overgrown, over-scripted, over-owned. While the Spirit moved barefoot in the marrow and the stone.
Like that Master-Meister once spake “I pray God to rid me of God.” Not because I’m done believing, but because I want to start seeing. See, the kingdom’s not coming. It came. It’s compost and sunrise and that second breath you take when you thought you were too tired to keep praying. We were taught God was above, the world below, and us somewhere between— like awkward guests at a wedding we didn’t know to which we were invited. But the wind don’t split or spit the sacred from the profane. It just… blows. Where it pleases. No dog on a bone dogma. No fog run up the flagpole. Just breath… on the water.
The Gate was never locked… It rusted from disuse. And the garden’s got wild now, but oh—it still bears fruit.
Kneel in the nettles— bread and wine still bloom… The Gate was never locked… Just closed and lost foresooth.
We made creeds from fear. Drew lines in the sand, forgot how to listen to the hum in our hands.
But Hey-Zeus was a walker. A path-lifter. A dust-kicker. He healed with spit and silence, with mud in the eye, a truth you can’t print— only live, only try.
Don’t tell me what the Way is. Just show me in your hot breath. Don’t chant me the doctreen— whisper what you felt when you stood in the river and knew you were held…
So if you’re out there, walking the wild in doubt and devotion, trading certainty for motion, know this: The map they gave you was helpful until it wasn’t.
The garden is bigger. The wind is wiser. And the gate—
I swear on every breath you and I have got— it was never locked.