The Actor Dies

What am I really?

I am a mixture of shit
and goodness and light.
If you hug me
you risk getting stinky.

I do not lie.
Well, sometimes I do.
I do not betray trust.
Hmmm, I’ve done that one, too.

How wretched.

Am I then worthless?
You tell me.

If in your heart
you are different—
unblemished by shit—
God has blessed you
with a soul untroubled.
How wonderful.

But God has taken my masks,
left me bare,
to face my troubles
without defenses.
How glorious!

See, I’ve spent most my life
hiding my Self
behind perfume and costumes and masks.
So afraid all would smell
the stink still inside.

I asked God for help.
He’s showing me the way.

I’ve been stripped of all pretenses.
I cannot pretend I am ‘better than…’.
Without my actor’s disguise
I look ugly, stinky, unwashed.
So grotesque amongst the actors
still wearing their puffery,
I am judged.

But what can their judgments tell me
that I cannot see for my Self
in the mirror of my heart?

“You are covered with shit!”
Why yes, I am.
Why didn’t you notice before?

They’re angry as hell.
I’m not playing my part.
The actor
has stopped improvising.
I’m too busy
washing off the shit.

It feels so good
to have washed face and hands
in the waters of forgiveness and love.
God offers me these—
offers all that I need—
to finally begin to get clean.

I like what I see
beneath all the sewage
that’s covered me all of my life.
But the process is ugly.
It ruins all costumes.
If you’re scared,
you better step back.

But if you’re ready to begin
just listen to Him.
His guidance is kind and clear.
Roll up your sleeves
take off your masks,
and join me here at His sink.