Archives for posts with tag: god

They ponder on death and God
with their scripture and science
That two pronged instrument
That two forked serpent
Iterating their thoughts over millennia

I too ponder them

Who is this absent God they worship?
Is it me, as I am in my true glory?
Or a figment of their old fears and new desires?

If I stir again to tip the scales
do I do them, my most loyal, a disservice?
Is their faith rewarded by being answered,
or does the fruit lie in uncertainty?

I too ponder

They draw cycles of life now and speak of an infinite universe
They peer into their machines and untangle my grand design
See nature’s spirals, life’s twisting helix
And then conclude that life abruptly severs?

Do they forget my old signs?
That sphere of black seeping in white and white that seeps in black,
That everturning wheel, marching on?

Are they in such a rush for heavenly conclusion
or hellish judgement
that they would skip over the glorious work to get there?

Yes I too grow to that end

What do they think happens in the afterlife – that beforelife – before they are brought back?
How else to explain man’s growth and civilisations’ progress but that there is no abrupt end,
That life goes on after death as death goes before life
Consciousness iterating over millennia

Do they not ponder upon my Angels’ wombs
Which they ageing backwards enter
and return to the earth?

Once upon a time, they would tremble at my wrath
Like fearful children huddled in a cave
And for the smallest transgressions I would crumble them like salt between my fingers
How else to teach a babe the dangers of fire
than to hold their hand up to it?

As they grew, so too did my open love and forgiving nature
A teenage child can be reasoned with,
is expected to fail and rebel,
must be trusted to return to the fold

Now I withdraw myself to give them room to grow
towards that final step.
And in my absence they profane
“Our God is inconsistent! Why does He no longer show himself? If He was real he would not forsake us!
I withhold my righteous destruction and bite my tongue
That final step is the hardest to climb
For myself as much as them

How long before they ponder the evolution of their consciousness as well as mine
And realise that both are intertwined, evertwisting upwards?
Do they see it in their microscopes, this other double helix?
That Man shapes God as much as God shapes Man?

That all creation elevates the Creator?
That paradise is something their God
must also aspire to?
When they understand the immensity
of our undertaking,
will they then be patient?

I too ponder.

How to explain myself… Have you ever looked upon a colony of ants with such fascination that you were compelled to become one? To live among them, as one of them. To dance and fight and feed and build and die as one?

And then, having done so, to communicate with them?

Perhaps the thought never occurred to you, as you stood over them, insignificant as they are to your higher plane of existence. Or not to the same depth, your imagination throttled by the physical limitations of reality.

Not so for I. For I am the god of all gaps. And I have stood over the creation, not of my own making, that is your universe, this colony teeming with humanoids, and looked upon your kind. Compelled to understand your feeble minds. And in doing so, decided to fold my being an infinite number of times into your restricted dimensions and live untold lifetimes as stars and wildebeest.

Perhaps another metaphor to better attempt an explanation. Imagine yourself at a museum of never ending scale, perusing the exhibitions presented by various artists. And all of it a grand waste of time. Until you come across the One work that moves something in you. Vibrates the waves in your soul. Not a lot. Just enough to halt your motions. To catch your eye and make you ponder. And this piece… a sculpture or flat painting so engrosses you the longer you stare at it, that you would partake in more of it if you so could. If you could pour yourself into it. Climb into its enclosures and become an ochre pigment or marble fragment.

I have been angel, prophet, god and demon. At times all at once. I come to warn and goad and guide and tear asunder. I have been both babe and mother alike, the lion and its meat. I am birthed and simulate an existence. I die and slip forms like you might a cloak. I scream past your little planets as comet, harbinger of doom. Herald of glory.

Still I do not understand you. I can mimic, serve, command. I have shaped and destroyed you, yet always something eludes, eluded, will elude my grasp.

I am not your God. But certainly I am the closest thing to that which you envisage when you prostrate and grovel. And I do not understand you.

I live it through forwards and backwards, inhabit every particle and wave of this colony. My experiment come to completion, I slip sideways into the dark. Spacetime washes over me like passage through a waterfall. I am more again. Resplendent once again in all the dimensions that are.

I stare at your little painting sculpture ant colony. I see my prints all through the weave. I saw it ‘before’ I entered, being outside your paltry concept of time.

I move on now, having written this note in ants tongue as farewell. Onto the other artefacts of the exhibition with infinite disinterest. Insignificant as you are, I could not, I cannot understand you.