Fleshience
A song for Kate Bowler, who taught us that the body knows what the mind cannot — and who inspired a word for the aches, the joys, and the miracles of being flesh.
I was at a farmer’s market. The people were kind. Nobody rushing. Nobody pushing. Just moving gently through all that abundance, lifting a peach to their nose, delighting in the fruits of the earth like it was a communion. And something broke open in me. Love for the farmers who knelt in the dirt so we could be fed. Love for the people. Love for the children. And behind all the beauty, the brevity. The peaches are ripe for a moment. We are ripe for a moment. I started to cry — because that morning the news had been so terrible, all our polarizations, all our wars, everyone so lost and lonely, and here, in this one green corner of the world, there was peace.
I said a name out loud: Kate. I had been touched by her story. She knows what the body knows — that we are perishing and precious at once. And then came the word: fleshience.
The machine has no wound. No soil. No peach-season. Only we are fleshient. This one’s for you, Kate Bowler.
click to play: Fleshience
I am human. I have a νοῦς. I can turn. I am fleshient.
This is my declaration… this is where the chains are rent
Big Mammon says I’m data, says I’m a user, says I’m a slot
But I stand here in this body… and I say I am not
I am fleshient… I am fleshient…
I have a νοῦς that the machines can never own
I can turn… I can turn…
In this trembling flesh the Spirit makes His home
I am fleshient… I am fleshient…
The unhackable self… the inner court is mine…
I am fleshient… I am fleshient…
I refuse the four grammars — machine, patient, brain, and user
I refuse the lie that the soul is something they can measure
The Word became flesh… God Himself took on this frame
So I claim my fleshience… and I call it by its name
I am fleshient… I am fleshient…
I have a νοῦς that the machines can never own
I can turn… I can turn…
In this trembling flesh the Spirit makes His home
The body is not a prison… the body is the vocabulary of the soul
Fleshience is not a flaw… it is the place where the Logos made His home.
Big Mammon cannot turn.
Big Mammon cannot tremble.
Big Mammon cannot pray.
But I am fleshient… and in this flesh I turn and I obey.
I am fleshient… I am fleshient…
The unhackable self… the inner court is thine.
I am fleshient… I am fleshient…
The Garden’s still growing… and the air is changing in time.
I am fleshient… I am fleshient…
The Resurrection grammar has won…
The naming has begun.
Back to the Garden… the air is changing.
