Sorry, I’m Already in a Committed Relationship… With My Soul

With Guest Commentary from Eagle Eye & Pieter

You know what really gets my ceremonial feathers ruffled?

Door-knocking Bible-thumpers trying to sell me salvation like it’s a damn Tupperware party.

Let me paint the scene for you.

I’m at home. Peaceful. Incense burning. A crow feather in one hand and a coffee in the other, contemplating the meaning of life and whether or not I should put on pants today.

Knock knock.

I ignore it. Maybe it’s a delivery. Maybe it’s karma arriving in a cardboard box. But no…

Knock knock. Knockity-knock-knock.

Persistent. Like a guilt-tripping aunt at Christmas.

I open the door. There stands a bright-eyed, clipboard-wielding crusader of Christ. Polyester slacks. The kind of smile that says, “I practiced this in the mirror.”

“Good morning! Have you accepted Jesus as your personal Lord and Saviour?”

I pause. I breathe. I do not smudge him. Yet.

“Mate,” I say, “I met Jesus once. He told me to tell you he’s fine, chilling with Buddha, and that you should stop using him like a spiritual door prize.”

He blinks. His script didn’t prepare him for this.

He attempts to pivot. “But do you know where you’ll go when you die?”

At this point, Pieter materialises behind me, muttering, “Oh FFS, it’s one of those. Quick, throw holy water—wait, no, he’ll like that. Throw logic.”

And Eagle Eye? Eagle Eye’s perched in my psyche like an unimpressed owl, shaking his head slowly.

“The white man once beat us with the Bible. Now he gets beat by his own ignorance. Circle complete.”

But me? I’m not here to verbally slaughter someone’s grandma’s favourite evangelist.

I go for humour. Always.

So I lean in real close and whisper, “Actually, I died once. Left my body, met Source, merged with the All That Is. And guess what? Nobody was checking church attendance records.”

Insert slow blink from him. His training didn’t include 'spiritual smartasses with death receipts'.

Then I ask, “Hey, quick question… is there a reward system for every person you convert? Like spiritual Flybuys?”

He stammers. “Uh… no, it’s just that we care about your soul.”

Bless.

“Mate,” I say, “My soul’s good. We talk daily. Sometimes he yells at me. Sometimes I yell back. But we’ve got a solid thing going. Very committed. Besides, your version of salvation comes with a dress code, eternal judgment, and no snacks.”

Pieter interjects with a fake ad voice:

“Try Shamanism™ — now with more drum circles, fewer guilt trips, and zero interest in controlling your orgasms.”

The young man looks scared. I might be the Antichrist. Or worse — spiritually free.

So I let him off the hook. I smile and say, “You have a good day now. But do me a favour—don’t sell God like a used vacuum. That sh*t’s holy, not multi-level marketing.”

He scurries off.

And here’s the real kicker: I got nothing against Jesus. Solid bloke. Great hair. Excellent healer. Would 100% invite to a barbecue. It’s the marketing department that ruins it.

You know the ones.

The part-time Christians who spend Sunday singing “Amazing Grace” and Monday calling the barista a slut for using oat milk.

The ones who say, “Love thy neighbour,” then rage comment on Facebook if said neighbour is queer, brown, or breathing outside of their political views.

Eagle Eye once said to me:

“If you need a church to be a good person, you’re not a good person. You’re just trying not to get caught.”

And Pieter, never one to miss a punchline, added:

“Also, if your God can be offended by someone else's genitals or astrology sign, he’s got bigger self-esteem issues than you do.”

Spirituality, my friends, is not about door-knocking, ass-kissing, or ass-covering.

It’s about embodiment.

It’s how you live, not what you say on Sundays with one hand raised while flipping someone off in traffic with the other.

Be kind. Be real. Be humble. Or if that’s too hard… at least be funny.

And if a door-knocker ever asks again, “Have you found Jesus?”

Tell them, “No, but I think he’s hiding behind the Buddha statue in my living room.”

Want more rants, revelations, and righteous irreverence?

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And remember… if Spirit wanted you to wear beige and feel shame, it wouldn’t have created you with this much spark.