Almost seventy five years had passed
before I recognised, guidance from above
In hindsight many messages,
so much full of love
No formal religious indoctrination, my father preached as atheist
my mother I don't know
But I remained agnostic, wasn't sure the path that I should surely take
always believed that Jesus lived, two thousand years ago
Modern existence, I find a challenge, so far removed from nature
and all of wondrous creation
I look to God, the greatest mentor we all have. I know that from within I must empower myself
but the connection He provides, is the base of inspiration
Who benefits from my belief?
Because the last I checked it wasn't me
I mean I am a black girl
Living In a racist misogynistic world
Because why would I worship a god who allowed my people to suffer
Yet caters to the needs of our oppressors
Allows them to call us s
Why would I believe
Why would I worship
Why would I pray
To a god who ignored my ancestors
Please go ahead
Make me understand
How your god created this world
But allows racism
So tell me how religion benefits a black person
Because to me and many others
It seems like a weapon
To keep us broken
In a world that sees us as subhuman
As 'god' watches us suffer
Whilst having the power
To fix this problem
So I ask again
Who benefits from my belief
The only correct answer
Is those who don't look like me
So why would I subscribe
To a religion
To a god
Who clearly hates me
Roll back the tides of time, and tell,
Of ancient books of myths, of hell,
Of temperance, nuns succumbed to gloom,
Entombed within their living tombs,
Of monks, and saints, and gospel song,
Born gently by the breeze, along,
Of deep toned organs' peeling swells,
Of virgins, Mary, and funeral knells,
Of dim-lit cells and penance loaned,
Which can for one's darkest deeds, atone,
Look back and lift the veil of night,
And view the man, the anchorite,
There he sits, so sad, so pale,
Shuddering at superstition's tale,
Crossing his chest with meager hand,
While saints and priests, a motley band,
Array before him to urge their claim,
To heal, in the Redeemer's name,
To climb the heavenly ladder, made,
By every patron, of every grade,
From wealthy abbot, fat and fair,
To starving child, withering there,
All of them eager to usher in,
The soul, ransomed by It's sin,
And tell me hapless bigot, why,
For what, for whom did Jesus die,
If pyramids and statues of saints must rise,
To form the passage to the skies,
Would you think man can wipe away,
With what but penance, day by day,
One single sin, too dark to fade,
Beneath a bleeding Savior's shade.
The fear of God
is not as threatening
As the fear
— he might not be
(Augustinian Graveyard: July, 2024)
Into a meadow,
I stopped by a gate
I often happened this way
Upon the stile I lent my arms,
Closing my eyes for a while
It often happened this way
Deep in my mind's eye
A vision,clear as day
They oftimes happen this way
This face of a man,
Had become known to me
I had begun to walk His way.
A proud agnostic, but a bit fair,
Truth of truths to me once did aver—
A guy clear as blue sky,
If per chance a bit wry:
If I know not, no one knows either!
Agnostic sure an either or bird,
Milk gone sour as if turned into curd,
One that fakes two-way fun,
To me, all said and done
Be the bisexual of this odd world.
________________________________
Reflections |03.05.2023| humour
I
God always wins the wager if we live long on earth... and even if we don't.
II
Some questions die with questioners; even if God heard the questioning daily (for 90 years)
III
If Jesus died for the sins of those born after 2000, will more from India and China be in heaven? Will whites be a minority in heaven?
IV
If race and color don't matter in heaven, God is miserly not to have given more practice here
Dead and distant.
Someone's personal best friend.
Don't say his name, don't draw his face.
He or She or They are an A Flat or a B Sharp,
or a thought, a spark, or a coming together,
Everything or nothing at all,
or love.
The beginning and the end.
The Alpha dog the scruffy human pack seeks,
roaming wildly in the quest for answers.
God is an A Flat or a B Sharp,
but not a Middle C.
That would just be too ordinary.
The quietness stood still
On this peaceful and calm night
In the distance bells tinkling are heard
Snowflakes fall softly and sing a silent wintry song
The white flakes drift amidst a mysterious dark sky
Sparkling bits of lights pop among an enormous darkness
Lights displayed for the heart to play with
Along with the brilliant beaming moon that bathes the landscape
Snowflakes pile on everything and everyone
In the awesome dark a north star shines brightly
I am not a religious person
But I know He is there
A Catholic and Agnostic In a relationship together...
Deep and wide is the valley of questions that fills my mind
It is much worse at night...
without a place to hide, I am lost.
I have never been lost in my faith
but now my eyes have been blind folded
a faith is twisted out and what seeps out is never-ending.
What will become of us? If it is more than a friendship, how am I supposed to navigate it? Does love not to conquer all?
Because I swore before I knew you, it would
I
Language is the water of the universe:
"I love u" is both true and untrue
Just as water kills and saves, freezes and flows
God speaks : "I LOVE" unfolding Creation
We speak: "I LOVE u" and create "the other!"
As with language and knowledge -
"I know" is more true than "I know math or a language."
II
There are waves, but is the coast also true?
A wave and photon are lost when watched
(We need a background, as sea needs coast)
If we see the crest of the wave, we separate
The Inseparable. WAVING is MOST TRUE
Of the universe. LOVING is most true of CREATION
Or PROJECTION (as spider ejects webs from Itself)
III
Language uses: subject, verb, object:
"I LOVE u"
It is the coastline helping us see waves
But not the current under, the whirlpooling!
The coast is for "you" but the Ocean always IS!
Many small waves run into bigger waves
You are an EYE - with billions of other eyes -
Looking through EXPERIENCE at The Great OCEAN!
Do NOT separate water and wave always
See the subconscious, the universe as undercurrent
The REALITY that seems to create waves, the unreal
Language can help, and hurt, the UNIVERSAL
I take a deep breath
Focus on my body
Acknowledge the miracle it is,
It always has been
I'm grateful for being alive
For existing in this moment
No matter the challenges
I feel weighing on me
The alternative is an end to surprises
No more new starts
with each morning
with each breath
Let me connect with the awe
of the astonishing small wonders around me
And rediscover why being human
is an incredible gift
the story of the girl with conflicted intention. her direction
was known only by a being she was impartial to. it seemed
her thoughts and feelings had been compressed down into
shrugs and one-word replies.
I don't think anyone completely knows or understands her, but, I
like to think she is of two minds in the realm of heartache- with
a dim view on an uncertain future. and when she lays her head down at night, she falls asleep to the nightmare of floating through death
with a warm smile.
if I had to guess why she had found no religion, it was because, for
as long as she could remember, she was the subject of worship. how hard it must be to have faith in an idea that offers nothing in return. all I want is to help her believe in something- once again.
Obviated by passion
I could as much apply each person
Exfoliate my heart.
Such tormented fragments
Seeking reconciliation therein,
Where all refrains come subject to warm
And, as my oath prescribes, I first
Must “do no harm”
Each valiant doll’s cartoon
A variance, but
Only tall in child’s retrospect.
Murderous and hideous disguised,
As in each man is set a plague of vacuums,
A cornerstone set within each soul
And from which each will build their life
Of hesitated futures.
Frames of frosted flames;
Each sliver silvered by a touch of light,
Each prayer cast into foreboding night.
The surface of each die married to the eye
Of what is cast,
The only knee we will bend
Will end upon a concrete flooring
Without love; Then,
You will open your eyes again.
What is this, you will ask of each
And, to all, at last, it comes,
Grown with a vibrant moving,
We are stirred;
Having arrived as the prime
Ingredient of our life,
Tested and tasted,
By the fires of our making,
To step off
And claim our freedom
to be
A being so mighty he made everything
God is his name, they speak it, or sing
No-one can prove that he really exists
Oh how can it be that the rumour persists
Such beauty abounds on this planet we dwell
Though war and atrocity loiter as well
It’s ‘faith’ that says thanks for the good things we’ve had
Claiming ‘mysterious ways’ for the bad
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