My pen name is Mamos, given to me by someone I love. I am a Christian, a revolutionary, a teacher, and a poet living in the middle of the spiritual desert that is the U.S.

Like the desert Fathers and Mothers, I'm frustrated that my church has given itself over to worshipping the mayor, the police chief, and the gold coins with the Emperor's pale-ass face on them.

Like them, I'm fleeing the churches built by the Empire with stolen gold, and running to the desert on the other side of the barbed wire.

Like them, I often find myself worshipping God at the margins, in places not designated by the authorities, in places the authorities are afraid to go, in places where it is hard to live comfortably but you can keep your soul.


Like those early monks and nuns, I have found a city growing in the desert, full of escaped slaves and undocumented prophets. I have found deep company where they said there would only be silence and loneliness.

I write this because I am grateful to rhyme with the desert. Like the early monks and nuns, I hope one day to storm the empire's capitals and help Jesus chase the money changers out of the temple.