My Heresy
I like my God much better than the one
who made his home up in the stratosphere
and favored us with visits now and then,
harrumphing down below about the way
that we behave, and tantalizing us
with sticks and carrots grown especially
for those who said the secret word or not,
by having properly proclaimed one man a king:
all this, of course. was indirect.
The voice of supernature wasn't heard;
the being had a handicap as beings will,
and yet the silence was as heaven-sent.
For I, the fallen one, would live because
the son would die. That was the sense of it.
But making sense is for the sensible,
and arms and legs and progeny fall short
of that pure consciousness which stubbornly
insists on such intangibles as wind
and breath and spirit time to mark its age,
its truth, and its enlightenment.
It is in such an ocean that I swim;
It is in such transcendant holiness
that I perceive a new compulsion, bent
to scale the mountaintops,
to part the mist,
and finally to show the face of God.
~
Copyright © Robert Ludden | Year Posted 2012
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