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  • My God, Your God


    Here is a poem I first started in January – I’ve revised it a bit, but it still doesn’t quite capture the feeling or the argument I’ve intended. Comments are welcome.

    My God, Your God

    The god I could believe in
    is not the god I hear described
    by you and other heartless folk,
    who in lust with judging
    cast your judgments
    up up up to the sky
    to form the ultimate authority.

    My god models
    the ultimate spirit –
    compassionate and loving,
    nestling me in warmth
    like a baby in the womb.
    My god guides me
    into ecstasy –
    that being outside myself
    beyond language,
    and still holds dear
    what makes me unique to him -
    or her – or that beyond gender
    that so confounds our imaginations.

    My god is beyond
    our human understanding,
    so that everything we know
    about friendship and love
    is just a pale reflection
    in comparision,
    and yet these things
    best teach us and train us
    revealing to us the beginning steps
    toward loving wisdom.
    If there is an afterlife
    I would ask then
    to be enlightened
    (and endarkened?)
    having already absorbed
    what I needed to learn
    from the joys and sufferings
    of embodiment and materiality,
    thereafter to dwell in spirit
    as the spark in me
    reenters the warp and woof
    of the cosmos.

    My god is beyond
    the highest thought that we can think,
    but my god is also very simple -
    the ultimate source and
    definition of love.
    You cannot explain even rhyme
    to an ant, and likewise
    we are limited by the terms
    of our own perceptions
    and our own becomings.

    Yet I believe that worship
    breathes through us all at times
    through kindness, through smiles,
    through forgiveness, through actions,
    through refraining from actions,
    and through the myriads of thoughts
    and feelings and behaviors
    that all of us, down deep inside
    already know.
    We already know.
    There is that still voice deep inside
    of the kingdom yet within us.

    And if there really is a god,
    and not our wish-filled dream
    then I invite this god to manifest
    in and through me, and to raise me up
    - the metaphor of upness incomplete -
    to the supreme processes of love.
    Yes, I welcome all benevolent deities.

    But if there is no such god as this,
    and even if your god is the "true God,"
    capital G and all,
    I judge your god as wanting
    and I defy your so-called god.
    Have you stopped to ask yourself
    to whom do you belong?
    "Which god do you obey" –
    a lyric so seldom received
    as an actual question.
    The daemonic voice of The The
    asks it too, though slant:
    Whose voice is it – after all -
    that whispers unto you?

    You fundamentalists have lost
    the thing most fundamental.
    Pharasees again, in code
    have lost or burned the message.
    You fanatics worship manmade creeds
    that will undo us all
    And YOU, you terrorists of all religions
    your gods will make us fall.

    Yes I confess this deep deep flaw,
    this remnant of rigidity,
    scar-tissue of self-righteousness,
    torn open yet again.
    Yet one must speak from where one stands
    and this is what I know.
    I have no room left in my heart
    for love toward you to grow.
    The evil that your god incites
    in you and o’er the world,
    stains for all time our histories,
    we all pay for your sins.
    I guard compassion jealously
    held selfish in reserve
    for the ones you hurt so deeply
    and whose stories aren’t heard.

    I name you and yours false prophets
    because you do define the phrase,
    you lead the would-be faithful
    always far and further astray.
    Placing demon masks
    on the faces of our kin,
    undoing all the fragile good
    that lets us breathe again.
    Shepard, you’re a predator
    who leads your singing flock
    straight into the meat grinder
    after having drunk the blood
    of our precious human dignity.
    Yet they still see not the fang,
    of sadists grinning, grinning
    puffed up in polyester gray.
    You use your sacred freedom
    to deceive the the trusting ones.
    Do you still know what you do
    or is it buried in the money trail?

    "Make no mistake" is what you say -
    (I say "be not misled")
    I do mean what it is I say
    Or your god may strike me dead
    It’s just as simple as can be
    I’ll say it "blunt and plain"
    See, I would sooner trust a flea
    than allow you to preach to me
    about god.

    And I am tired, suddenly – just
    take your god and ….

    get behind me.

    Take your god and go.

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