You can read his own notes, if you care to take the time, but I doubt it will be of any use or value. Frankly, this whole "thing" the unknown poet has with "spirituality" leaves me cold. It's as if he believes that "spirituality" is a thing in itself, which can be addressed without regard to any external religious figure or authority. Why, if we were to carry his viewpoint to its logical conclusion, we have no need for prophets, bibles, pontiffs, priests, or any sacrament other than the fact of life itself!
That is just too scary!
Why, one might even think that if we were to destroy our precious planet that no one would come and kiss our thumb, wipe our bum and fix it up right for us!
Seriously, all snark aside, the only fact of which we can be sure is the fact of life itself -- everything else is conjecture!
The power of which you think to speak
was writ upon the thumb of some computer freak.
It's implied that every one of us
must put our faith, hopes, dreams and even trust
into the hands of a Boy Named Jim,
or Jack or maybe even Bill—in hope that sins,
acquired through years of fragrant fears,
will simply gather up their skirts and disappear.
It may be true, but is it likely – no!
Take a look around and see what it is we really do!
We fan the flames and claim the blame
could never stick to the soles of our teflon shoes!
The truth is hard to bend, my friend,
but once you've seen its lonely glowing in the dark,
you'll never ever really rest
until you've finally found it in your secret heart.
It's a fact, the Truth, rarely follows such words as: "the truth...".
This poem turns upon an ambiguous meaning of what is meant by "power". Immediately it would seem to have something to do with computers, and yet the general drift of the poem makes it clear that it is also meant in what we have to call a spiritual sense. What I think is meant is that we have a sad tendency to abdicate our responsibility especially in spiritual and ethical matters to others.
Whatever we say about what we believe, our acts and daily lives show that our faith is often in other things.
False prophets will tell you that if you say "Idaho, Idaho", along with a phrase or two they made up while moving their bowels, and you feel a chilly thrill run up your spine while uttering gibberish glossalia like "walla-walla shaballa..." you are "reborn" and, having received the gift of the "Holy Wind", are saved from the Evil Dominion. This is, of course, complete and utter bullshit they have construed from garbage they found laying around in their own minds.
But all such is to be expected. The ancient teachers tell us that when the Seat of Solomon is vacant, a certain barf-face demon will sit upon the throne for the space of an hour and proclaim, "I am Solomon!" Or, as the Idaho reportedly spoke: "In those days many will come saying [that] I am the Idaho" (Math 24:5)