It's a topic that jumped up like a stunned ferret from God's own hot plate three separate times recently — indicating, I think, that I'd better pay some sort of attention to it — the topic being the obvious but still desperately under-discussed idea that perhaps the most dangerous problem facing man in this modern age of radical technology and dazzling scientific conundrum and otherworldly raspberry vodka and ever-expanding notions of love and sex and human interconnection is the sad and treacherous fact that, well, religion and belief as we know them in America are, by and large, far too horribly stuck, limited, fixed in time and place and stiff karmic cement.

Put another way: We as a culture just might be suffering a slow, painful death by spiritual stagnation, by ideological stasis, by cosmic rigor mortis. It has become painfully, lethally obvious in the age of George W. Bush and authoritarian groupthink that our major religious systems and foundations don't know how to move. They don't learn, adjust, evolve, see things anew. They don't know how to dance. And what's more, this little problem might just be the death of us all.

The idea is everywhere, and not just in the obvious, sour religious outhouses of evangelical Christianity and fundamentalist Islam and rigid Catholicism. It even popped up while I was in conversation with tattooed Buddhist and author of "Dharma Punx" Noah Levine at the Roxie theater during LitQuake '07, he and I chatting about the dangers of dogma and the problem of trying to adhere too closely, too severely, to classical Buddhist rules of behavior, concluding that even Buddhism has its dangers, its limits and its issues and general theological potholes.

Levine, a fairly conservative Theravadan Buddhist, admitted that even he had to seriously adjust some of those old rules to make them tolerable and digestible, particularly in regards to how poorly classical Buddhism valued women and the feminine principle (not to mention other rather impossible dietary and lifestyle restrictions), outmoded ideas that sort of make you wince and cringe and say no no no, Buddha couldn't really have meant that, could he?

Ultimately, Levine is much like any other honest, modern Buddhist in that he will see these apparent snags and merely shrug, and then choose what rules and notions from the ancient texts work for him in the modern world. Arguably, the beautiful thing about Buddhism is that, by and large, it seems to willingly allow for this adaptation, welcomes it and encourages it, in the full understanding that, so long as clear, divine intent is in place, there can be no real threat to the Four Noble Truths, to the honest path. (Though there is no shortage of strict Buddhist sects who believe their version is the one true way.)

A similar idea came up again as I was sharing the stage with the luminous Sera Beak, author of "The Red Book," a funky spirituality tome for fiery youngish women, she and I talking to the small crowd over at the Alameda Literati Festival about the hot ideological tongue baths that simply must take place between the divine feminine (her oeuvre) and the profane masculine (mine? Sort of?), the idea that you cannot have one without the other and they are both, in fact, required, and it's when you get deluded into thinking there is only one way to see notions of divine and god and sex that you get in serious trouble. (Full disclosure: I edited her book, so I know her ideas well).

It is the notion of fluidity of spirit. It is the notion that religion and belief, far from the immovable anchors that supposedly give your life deep meaning and sustenance, just might be far better and juicier and healthier for you and your ravenous soul when they do not always give you such firm and inflexible ground upon which to rest your head.

It's a decidedly Tantric principle, that of a divinely animated, changeable universe, the idea that because we are fluxive and adaptive and ever-evolving species, that perhaps our gods, our doctrines, our belief systems should evolve and adapt with us.

(Here is where you may insert the sounds of screaming from the evangelical Christian and Catholic churches and all Bible literalists, among many others, who generally abhor change and resist the new and fight against all efforts to let the spirit, the flesh, the id truly breathe. After all, it is only through rigidity and dogma that they have meaning and control. It is only through the lack of change and the resistance to thinking for yourself that they have any real power. The poor things.)

It reminds me of the story Beak told me of a scene in the 1998 documentary "The Jew in the Lotus," in which a group of Jewish delegates traveled to India to meet with the Dalai Lama to discuss serious matters of faith and exile. During their talks, the Kabbalist (that is, the mystic) among them brought up the notion of angels, which instantly enthralled and excited the Dalai Lama, who immediately wanted to discuss them more, to learn and share ideas of wonder and magic (much to the chagrin of the other, more "serious" delegates).

It is, in a way, nothing short of astonishing. In the face of the horrible suffering of his people, the Dalai Lama was wide open to new possibility (he's also hugely interested in the ways new scientific discoveries intersect with faith), fresh ways of looking at God, soul, the universe. Here was the Tibetan people's most holy leader, an eager sponge for new spiritual information he could use to inspire and transform his faith, his people. Now, imagine the Pope doing the same thing. See? Laughable. And horribly sad.

And then, finally, the idea sprang up once more, this time in an entirely different, thoroughly wonderful, hyperintelligent mode that I wish I'd thought of myself but must hereby give credit to the amazing conceptual artist and all-around creative genius Jonathon Keats, and his new show over at Modernism gallery in San Francisco.

Keats has created new miracles for gods. Which is to say, any deity who might be in need of something new and refreshing and mind-blowing, any sort of supernatural being who might have lost some of his/her luster or exalted status and needs a nice kick-start, may, through the gallery, license any of Keats' newly developed, miraculous phenomena to enthrall the human species anew.

He has designed seven new and unique solar systems, each available for licensing by any needful deity. ("The buyer is responsible for construction, and advised to hire a qualified engineer.") He has also created "lesser miracles," including a suite of supernova pyrotechnic displays, designed to "blaze across the heavens for months" and inspire new waves of awe among jaded believers. There are astral organ works designed to be played on constellations of stars, one of which is now available for free download.

"I'm sympathetic to deities, who must compete to be noticed, and are constantly at risk of being debunked," Keats says in a press release. "I'm also sympathetic, even more so, to the cynics amongst us who have lost their sense of wonder. Perhaps awe can be rediscovered through art."

And there you have it. Bottom line: It is through the creative impulse, through imagination and our deep need for mystery, that the gods can truly dance, remain fresh, stay alive and vital and interesting. It is only through our ability to reinvent them and honor them in new and miraculous ways that humanity will keep afloat and vibrant. The gods are, after all, our creation. Why not let our creation tango?

Mark Morford's latest book is 'The Daring Spectacle: Adventures in Deviant Journalism'. Join Mark on Facebook and Twitter, or email him. His website is markmorford.com. For his yoga classes, workshops and retreats, click markmorfordyoga.com.

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