sloth

id cultivated the sin called idleness, of laying for uncountable stretches of time calmly with my eyes closed or open. practicing. tonight rats or something else hungry banged around the cooking pots, which id forgotten to put up. i was thinking this small thought, of getting up and putting them up and id almost commenced it but the vacancy of the long hours filled me too heavy to move except so slowly as to be almost unperceptable. so sinew by sinew i flexed my left hand.
thus begun a trance completely by accident, an episode during which the lord was speaking not bidden thru praying or nothing just the low throaty sound of the woods at night, green lips and tounge never abating, his wild hands crawling over me with the long legged spiders lit by a snatch of moon through the thick blue leaves. we hung in the minutes or seconds or hours like this for a while, any stretch of time really, till the wind wound through the trees and the campfire wrapped me in smoke so unspeakably more pure than that perfume incense they are always swinging from heavy chains at mass (them and their damn chains) and i coughed and came awake and the rats, having concluded, scrambled off to some other holy purpose.