Stream of Consciousness 3 (4/15/14)
Jungles of asphalt-laden shoes;
Women and men carrying dead mother and fathers on their backs,
With the weight of the sins of a thousand generations;
Unable to rise above the chains they don't see;
Shackled to the fears and guilts of those before;
Giving lip service to something higher -
A verbal credence to the Great Spirit -
Yet without having experienced the Divine One.
Do you have the Spirit within?
Our metaphors run short;
We confuse them for literal substance.
Is the divine a man?
Is the divine a nursing mother?
A father? A son? A mother? A daughter?
And yet we have nothing else but words,
If we feel we must explain;
But one need not explain something which is a tangible presence
A person, felt and heard,
Not by skin and ears, but within our being;
Yet we don't trust what we can't touch;
We're skeptical of what we can't see;
And fear calls for the safety of words,
And a systematizing of the unpredictable
to make it safe;
And the boxes get smaller,
Like Russian nesting dolls,
Until your concept of the divine
is no bigger than an ant -
One which you squish
Upon finding it alive.