Monday, December 21, 2015

A Meditation for God

Let's light lamps, sit on a warmed
blanket in the presence of earth-breath
puppies, sleeping with necks crossed
over each other. Let's send a letter back
to God, knowing we could never compete:

     Thank you for holding my hand
as I breathe, you are like a candle to me:
in your presence I hum in light of your
flickering silence, I am safe. Your love
is both shield and sword, both in light
and dark, you shape-shift your love.
I live when I feel close to you. You change me
and make me new again and my joy
in each discovery is the fossil I find
buried in effort's dirt.

     It is hard not to imagine you human:
it is the human in me you forgive. You are
in every where and thing I feel you near
in the sound of rain the roots and I
collect you and curl in the satiety of you.
I feel you near when ear presses to her breast
I hear you inside the cocoon of her bones
around muscle: you have created
something so beautiful that through her
you bring me to knee with closed eyes, 
and a gratitude swelling for all she is,
all you are.

     I feel near you in the eyes
of others-- other creatures, other humans
who like me breathe to know you, remember you,
recall, call out for you. (Surely you know
if you press us in the right place, we will sing
and fill the holy cave with blue notes
of ache and praise.) You are like the
song our mother sang to us in womb:
you are both the womb and the song
we know from Universes ago,
we return through you again and again,
swaddled in your holy echo.  

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