I’m reading a book about communists (poet’s disclaimer: I am not a communist, though I’m not sure if it says more about me or our society that I feel I must disclaim; I don’t dislike communists, and in fact, I could almost be one if push came to shove, but I’m not, you see, just a plain old run-of-the-mill Democrat and proud of it, though I have good friends who are conservative Republicans, and they are, generally, quite lovely people) and in this book so many of the people profiled speak about THE MOMENT, the moment when they saw clearly and heard the clarion call of the ideal and felt connected to those who also believed, and it was beautiful, and it was life-changing, and they never forgot it, and nothing since has ever come close, and I thought how very much like religion it sounded, like a Damascus road experience, blinded by the light and all, and then I thought about today and how we’ve all become evangelists for something, and I’m not saying that we shouldn’t stick to our convictions, but maybe, just maybe we could consider how fully we ate of the flesh and drank from the cup of our personal gospel.
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