WHERE IN THE HELL IS GOD?



So, New Year’s Eve.
Atrocities around the world,
Mother Nature continuing to erupt
With little concern for life.
(What kind of mother is she?)
No miracles to bolster faith,
Only broken relationships,
Undeserved illnesses,
Unthinkable personal traumas,
Deaths,
Losses of every sort and kind.

Exactly!
Can’t be a God.

But how could there not be?

Perhaps an inside discussion with yourself,
Or with your friends,
As you watch the year unwind itself,
The numbers tumbling from
The face of the clock into oblivion,
Into a history that no longer exists.

Unfortunately,
We will probably not find God
On a synaptic journey,
Poking around the amygdalan storehouse
Where our limiting mental models of reality
Fight for first place.
We will not find God trudging through
The cement of disillusionment, doubt
And disbelief.
If we insist upon searching for
God in the left hemisphere,
We may find comfort in
Cause and effect,
But hardly the essence of Love
Who mysteriously plays the heart,
Beat by beat, like a faithful drum.

Einstein suggests
There is only one place
To find God.  In the deepest caverns of
Our imagination, beyond the limiting
Synaptic connections of our knowing,
Beyond the short-sighted synaptic 
Connections of our fantasies,
Perhaps even beyond our dreams.

Incomprehensible treasure is buried there,
Unthinkable even to Forbes.
It is here, in our imagination,
Where we can resolve the abhorrent,
The unthinkable
The unknowable
The incurable.

But beware.
The imagination is a quantum leap beyond
The lust for money and power,
The lust for religious righteousness,
Beyond even the lust for justice and morality.
Perhaps too close to insanity
For the comfort of many.
For some of us to reach
Our imagination, it will require
Passing through the perennial eye,
The eye of the needle,
Where all bets are off.
Einstein tells us our imagination exists
In infinity, where creation
Occurs and reoccurs.
Would you consider joining me here,
Where together in our imaginations
We can change the world? 
Yes,
It is here.
It is here where God lives.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

AN EASTER POEM: IT IS TIME

Image
We are born to love and be loved.  Our brain is literally wired for love.  But it doesn't take much for us to begin protecting ourselves from love.  It begins very early, sometimes from the beginning.    We are all imperfect parents, and sometimes we unwittingly abandon our children, sometimes with the good intentions of teaching them life's lessons, not knowing that the lesson we teach is to protect yourself from love.  As parents, in a moment of frustration, we have all said something like, "After all the terrible things you said to me, including that you hate me, and now, you want me to give you a hug?  Really?  Maybe tomorrow!"    I know, for myself, my almost 70 year journey continues.  I continue to learn how deeply I have buried my heart and my soul to protect them both from what seems to be the pains of love.  The reality is that love is not painful.  Love is wonder filled.  But by the time we get to a place in our life when we can experience mature love
Read more

MARIANNE BYER'S COLLATION

Image
I endured my first steps into the morning. The cold pavement greeted me. The Son soothed me. The road led to the first meal of my day. Christ in his entire filled my gnawing heart, Like gentle morning dew, He awakened me from my sleep. Returning home the Son blinded my eyes, Encouraging me to see the path In which he was leading me. Suddenly,  Sounds and smells of my childhood Engulfed me. Sparrows, Lilacs, Blue jays, And doves, Summoned me. I consumed the second meal of my day. And the longings, Mother Father Brother Sister They arose Serving me bittersweet treats, I struggled through the third meal of my day. And then the Son, Sparrows, Lilacs, Blue jays, Doves, Mother, Father, Brother, Sister, Ushered me up the walk. The welcoming smell of sausage Brought a smile to my face. I was home. My husband
Read more

THANK YOU MAYA ANGELOU

Image
Photography from   http://www.womenscouncil.org/cd_web/Angelou.html   Intense, Rhythmic,  Ah, elegant, Fully resonant her voice. Her creations Perhaps not for the eyes But for the ears only. From deep within the caverns of her soul, Her carefully-chosen words Put bow to those Godly strings Harmonically vibrating like a cello.  Sounds, yes music, we shall miss, Yet etched forever  Deep within our own poetic souls.
Read more