Confessions of a Panentheist
There was no tearful parting from my God.
I merely saw him pale before the light of truth,
and fade before me. It was as if he knew
I didn't need him anymore, although
he didn't need to say goodbye,
for he was everywhere.
How can it be, his love is stronger still?
There is no "he," no icy realm,
no flame within his breath
to ward off beasts,
engage the penalty of death,
or thunder from the mountain
as we cower in holy fear.
No, we created those,
and they were phantom devils
masquerading in egoic foil
to all the weakness we might gather
to our prayers, all the feral predators
beyond the fire at the door.
This kind of love is just for us,
the taproot of that true reality
that groans within us.
It is the stuff of Namaste
that snuffs out darkness,
re-creates a spirit peace
within each minute particle
someone forgot. How may it,
in its quietude,
rage as a storm around us,
as a hurricane within?
In truth, there is no object
to its furious assault. It is us,
in wonder absolute
for whom this strange wind
blows both to and from infinity,
and yet still bends to our control.
This cosmic mind in truth, is such
to speak in whispers, yet it spans
the curvature of time and sky
for listeners with joyous, straightend knees,
incredibly the likes of you and I.
~
Copyright © Robert Ludden | Year Posted 2012
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