Listen to a reading of “Some Worship At The Feet Of Roadkill”:

Some worship at the feet of deities, at the feet of gurus, at the feet of dead prophets, at the feet of stone idols, in churches, in temples, in mosques, in Mecca.

Others worship at the feet of roadkill, at the feet of the dead roo by the side of the freeway, at feet of the cat who crawled its way to the nature strip and died after being clipped by the wheel of a Toyota Camry.

They worship at the feet of a stranger’s eyes, at the feet of steamrolled wives, at the feet of circling birds in a cloudy sky, at the feet of a stifled intersection packed with logos for fast food and fossil fuels.

Moving through life open-hearted, cathedral-hearted, moon-hearted, eyes full of frog croaks and black angel feathers, worshipping at the feet of creaky screen doors and the smell of Windex.

They don’t chase goals or yearn for distant mind fluff; they worship the air in the nostrils and the crackling energy in the body. They have torrid affairs with the sounds of trains and traffic. They make love to the spaces between power lines.

Some worship at the feet of discarded toys, at the feet of lipstick smears, at the feet of janitor’s closets, at the feet of sidewalk puddles, at the feet of gum leaves rustling in the wind. They don’t go to church because they feel the ancient owls at the center of their being.

They are in touch with something that is older than the atoms. They lie prostrate in the parking garage.




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12 responses to “Some Worship At The Feet Of Roadkill”

  1. John Michael Greer observed that, over time, the details of the “UFO” myth tended to correspond closely to whatever the US military was testing at the time. Cover for new systems development and testing is one possibility. Cover for domestic COIN or other operations is another.

  2. I don’t worship, whether by choice or some intrinsic instinct, who can say? Rather I am awed by nearly everything, all around me. The raison d’etre of even the simplest things are inexplicable, yet here we are. There is light, at least there seems to be light and all that allegedly follows, whether something prior to light allowed it, caused it, extracted it, imagined it, simulated it or not.
    If I, the subjective, would not exist without (choose pronoun), the objective, as everything seems to be defined by its opposite, should I worship that, or simply cherish it? And, like the fallen tree in the woods, how does the objective regard me? With enough gratitude to worship?
    If me and my shadow, so to speak, persisted forever, would the question ever be answered?

    1. The sacred is a sad, pathetic imitation of the divine, and those who manufacture sacredness in industrial quantities know that and hate everyone who notices.

  3. You are getting deeper and deeper these daze. I am in awe.

  4. Some worship at the feet of an ancient owl too, in Bohemian Grove, essentially murderers and thieves like past presidents, politicians and bankers, and they don’t want the world to know about it. Ain’t that kinda weird?

    1. Talk about inexplicable behavior by the elites–in this case the intellectual elites, the sub-atomic particle physicists at CERN. They stage ritual human sacrifices to the Hindu god Shiva, source of all creation and ultimate annihilation.
      My interpretation? Probably not religious practitioners, but more likely ultimate achievers who fancy themselves elevated to the level of the gods, or the has-been gods of the ancient religions and civilisations whom they have now replaced. The folks at Bohemian Grove are elevated and unified by their money, the scientists at CERN by their knowledge and control it implies. The latter implication traces back to Manhattan Project head, J. Robert Oppenheimer, who after the successful Trinity detonation reportedly quoted Hindu god Krishna from the Bhagavad Gita, “I am now become death, the destroyer of worlds.” Note that “Trinity” is also a religious reference. Always wondered what job the Holy Ghost was assigned. Keeper of the bomb?

  5. Kind of reminds me of the ‘Talking Heads’ the way their lyrics would often have the same beat, if they’re still around I bet they’d love a go at that poem, right up their alley the last time I heard them some 40 years ago.
    Oh, and content wise as well, that pic would make a great album cover. Oops, I think album are obsolete now; aren’t they? I think they stopped making records decades ago.

  6. To Caitlin et al.,

    Thank you for these brief videos with narration. They are sincere, sobering, and impactful.

    Please create more.


  7. Well, it’s only about a TC that’s jumping about:
    but it’s got evvverything we’re wound up on!

  8. “Some of the Dead are Still Breathing ”
    Charles Bowden

  9. I worship in the pixel light of Twitter,
    yelling into the electronic hole in the ether,

    not knowing what else to do
    until I’m called to the great beyond.

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