conundrum throughout creation

In the beginning, there was the goddess, and she created all, everything, above and below and in-between. Except for the things the god created. He rained his fiery sperm down from the heavens into her dark, fertile valleys, and there was life.

Except for the life that was created when he was wounded and his blood spilt on the earth or that stuff created when she split asunder her atomic structure and divided into two beings, the earth and the sky, and they into four: earth, water, fire and air.

And all of these being the exception to that which was created when everything went haywire and nothingness exploded with a big bang, causing the formation of the universe, which is still feeling the effects and expanding, or is it shrinking?

Then there was the time he masturbated into his hand, ingested the output and expectorated children. And the time when her love for the universe was the cause of great consternation in her underground womb and erupted life-giving fires onto the surface from her vagina.

But I digress, my mind was in the gutter...

These two came together, bonded as one and from that union everything emerged. Except, of course, those things that naturally evolved from proteins and acids bonding together in small pools of warm water, over millions and millions of years, step-by-step.

One must mention a worldwide flood at some point, as either man became too wicked to survive, there was a war among the gods, or the crust of the earth shifted over the mantle due to gravitational issues, causing a massive cataclysm.

Of course, one man and his family survived, having been told by god to build an ark and take into it one of every animal and not to worry about the predator/prey combinations or the problem of feces removal.

Whoops, gutter problem again.

His was the only family, except for the pair that survived by strapping themselves to a tree on a high hill. And the one down in what we now call South America who was told to enter the caves. And all the others in their boats. And the ones who were turned to dolphins, etc. Oh, and Atlantis, or Lemuria, which sank beneath the depths.

Then there was the tower we tried to build to reach heaven, where all languages were created to confuse people and to separate us so we'd never become as great as god, although inside us all there is a god, or at least a loa, perhaps a brother-in-loa.

Luckily, today we all believe alike, at least according to the leaders of the United States, that one nation under... something. Something green, I think, and made of paper, or perhaps golden, like a calf...

We all know that church is on Sunday morning and as long as you're there and you've dunked in the name of a Jewish carpenter/stoneworker/last scion of the Davidic line/rabbit/savior, anything you do during the week is up for negotiation. Man, I'm glad the world isn't as complicated today as it once was. Just begs the question...

What would Guan Lin do?

wayside pulpit

Mind astray reading the

words on a wayside pulpit-

so awkward a prophet-

bumbling knowledge-

the acidity of a stunted worldview.

Are you simple as this?

So explainable by twists of phrase 

and pithy wagging tongues

of a bored and boring populace?

Or do you exist in more than an

ever-changing, plastic-lettered,

scared domicile of homicidal 

banalities; meant to be smart?

Might you reside in the

memory of a deceased relative

who died in pain but lived in promise?

Do you dwell a lady’s kiss

at Summer’s first light, balefires lit,

anticipating your rise?

Have you been heard in silent want

upon cold gray steps, with brothers' 

saffron robes dragging the freezing floor?

Or can you be found in

a painted representation of a savior 

dangling, bleeding, rescinding all sin?

Do you feel anger when forced

in containers or bound in

dead leather as the pages of a book?

Can you smell the petals of

an opening rose; waft along the breeze;

yourself the perfume of floral fascination?

How does it feel to be an enigma-

an unknown quantity

straddling an absolute world?

Have I seen you in my daughter’s smile;

my son’s face in the morning

when I am home and it’s Saturday

and what's past is left in proper place?

I care not how you were conceived;

how to ratify your existence; define your mystery.

I seek only your presence, not to fall by the wayside-

no pulpits, nor altars, nor prayers, nor kneeling.

* * *

Since I took such a long break between posts, I thought I'd try to write something new. That didn't work out, so I went back to a past piece & edited the hell out of it (or maybe into it, depends on your worldview.) One of my pet peeves are those little blurbs that appear alongside the road on church marquees- wayside pulpits- that are supposed to be witty. To me they epitomize the general dumbing-down of religion in this country.