What to do?

What do I do with that old time religion
when I know that I am God?

Collective un-conscious, tides of community,
nudge me to worship.

I strive mightily to see beyond
a world I wish to rise above.

It rears its head, alive and well:
kicks me.

Immanence breathes hot
on the heels of transcendence.

Shadowy form tangos seductively
across the ceiling of my inner focus.

Now I fathom fire, flood, famine:
not to punish, but to rock loose,
slap awake, snap back
from frantic trance.

What to do?

Wash my child with water,
chant Om, tone amen,
shout halleluiah, dance the seasons;

light candles, pyres, torches;
walk stations, labyrinths, fire;
offer flesh, flowers, gold;

journey to Mecca, Jerusalem, Rome,
sacred city, holy river,
magic mountain, wailing wall;

build mounds, temples, mosques,
synagogues, churches, bingo halls;
tend oak groves, sacred springs;

spin wheels, finger beads, ring bells,
drink blood, swallow hosts, revere cattle;
slay devils, virgins, goats, the infidel;

whirl entranced, bow to the east;
sit shiva, lotus, silent;
hug a tree, save the earth.

Surrender in frustration, celebration, awe.

Remember
The
Mystery.

© 2005 Hughes Henshaw Publications. All Rights Reserved. |