Pagan


My religion is: These birds, those trees, this sky. The sound of trains or children in a distance And cars en route to work. Cool air through the window. The distinct taste of this cup of tea, with milk.

My religion is found: In Footnote to Howl. In the questing of Hypatia And the musings of Aurelius In the clarity of Baldwin And the rhythms of Shange.

God(s) come(s) to me: In the intensity of a gaze, And the quicksilver flash of understanding. In the movement of my lips upon a lover’s, And the strobing nighclub lights on sweaty bodies. In the silence of this morning’s contemplation.

Grace descends and rises: Around a dinner table with good friends. In the waters of the Weld Valley Or the alleyways of Paris. On California cliffs under the cypress Where fat earthworms dig at loam.

My hermeneutics is: The Hubble taking galactial pictures. The x-ray diffraction parsing DNA. Fuller’s triangles forming mind-domes And every evidence of the number Phi: The nautilus and sunflower, your body meeting mine.

Salvation comes: This moment. Look. Listen. Taste. Touch. Sense that You are infinite and not alone. You are center, but not apex. You are part of some great Whole.

Wholly! Wholly! Wholly! Power, light, and grace. Wholly! Wholly! Wholly! Shadow, love, and all unfolding time. Know Thyself. Know the World. Know the Cosmos. Know that you are God/dess, (But not the only one).

Limitlessness distills in form. Ever reaching…

#Pagan

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