I mean what they think I’m supposed to mean.
No longer can I talk about a god six steps removed, as if God were the A-Team of attorneys, advertisers, and agents who write the contracts, book the guests, and place the products on Megatainment Tonight, where tinsel toothed theological celebrities talk about the forced formulas and the predictably vapid romantic plot twists on doctrinal scripted Soap operas – televised services for sheeple to vicariously experience romance through the Days of Other people’s Lives.
No longer can I have truck with meta.
No longer can I talk about those who talk about talking about God.
The God I know can’t be contractually codified. Can’t be be corralled. Can’t be contained.
Can’t be colored within the lines. For Her, lines are but loose, liminal laughter
– an impish, invisible, isthmus.
The God I know and love is as close to me as my very breath, is breath, is the One who breathes my breath back and forth as lovers do
She’s my Lover who gazes into me as She breathes in my far-out freaky fantasies and fears; breathes out Her peace, …sweetly saying chill the fuck out.., and smiles.
The God I know gently appears to me within moments of closing my eyes, in the kaleidoscope of colors that shift and shape, an organic, living, ever-changing northern-lighted nebulaic star womb constantly birthing and ever re-purposing degrading x-rays, dissolving stardust, and particle decay
at once like witnessing fractaled, fluorescent photosynthesis taking place through a microscope, and then morphing to mesmerizing meandering mayan meandros zagging double-helixed key patterns in phosphorescent webbing, and then to a fleet of yellow subatomicmarines becoming playful purple porpoises cruising various depths of churning rainbow mirroring ocean waves as viewed from a cosmic telescope located on a moon in a distant galaxy while perky persieds sprightly shower across its glitter gilded misty muslin lens.
But far more than my deep revering awe for this amazing artful Goddess is the strangely warmed feeling of sweetly loving presence and intimately caring closeness that She has for me – and for you.
She’s there. Right there.
For us all. Loving. Always.
He’s the one Who is.
They’re Isness itself
– and so are you.
I bow before thee.
A poem that will be included in my upcoming book: Discovering Fire: Enlivening Fuel for Religious & Non-Religious Hearts and Souls.
Painting by @krystleyez
More poems by Roger: Earthmamagaiagoddess
Rev. Roger Wolsey is a certified Spiritual Director, United Methodist pastor, and author of Kissing Fish: christianity for people who don’t like christianity
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