DEvolving Theology

DEVOLVING THEOLOGY


My brain is soft, silken tofu
more malleable than my heart.
It constructs rough altars to rogue gods;
forces that cannot love you
as you love them; it rips apart
theologies, an anarchic divining rod.


When I was six, spinning in the dew,
arms splayed, a whirling dervish jump-start
to limbic prayer, I spoke to God.
He said, "I'll give you a clue.
You will know Me in poetry and art,
but you must find Me alone, or it's fraud."
I have since traveled far beyond my means.


I am a quantum dabbler, it is true,
syncretic, gnostic, heretic by parts.
My soles slip in the footprints where others have trod.
I shake a cosmic cocktail, an ethneogenic brew,
one-half cradle Catholic, spritz of Wicca, a garnish of Descartes,
that numbs the sting should you suggest my philosophy's flawed.


I care now, not for answers, holy mysteries will do.
A-whirl in quiet contemplation to storm the ramparts
of the brain, this frontal lobe so frangible and odd,
an ecstatic neural nodule hot-wired with God glue.
I sit in silence and stillness to start
the unmasking of the world the angels laud.
All living waters flow to the same stream.


Written for: "SLAM!" 

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