I hear this “God, as you understand it to be….” disclaimer these days, in an effort to appeal to the more non-denominational types. The non-denomination specific population.
So, there are folks who believe god to be an all -knowing creator/provider to the universe. There are folks who believe god to be the old uncle who died in 1967 but answers with a strong wind when a question is cast his way. Some people believe god is in the details. I’d love to pass out questionnaires …..
“Describe god, as you understand it to be”
Tonight I might describe god as the fire in the gut. The heat of digestion, the functioning emotional core. A clarity. And like all the gods as everyone understands it to be, all over the world, ever, my gut / my god, is far from on fire right now. The ashes are damp. Getting moldy, even. Everything I’ve eaten the past few days, and against my better judgement, sits like glue in my gut.
All the things I should have said but pussed out? They settle, deflated, and take up space. They stick like chewing gum in the digestion tract.
All the good ideas (divine ideas, really) that go left undone? They circle around in the bloodstream, manic-like, disrupting what is supposed to have it’s own miraculous order.
All the babies that never happened? The empty space they’ve left behind? Little pockets of reminisce, wondering, each having left its scar in that emotional core.
So, I light candles and I breathe fire. I stop the pacing and remember to dance. I remember not to name things and I remember that divinity usually happens on a microscopic scale.
I start strategizing good flora.
So, there are folks who believe god to be an all -knowing creator/provider to the universe. There are folks who believe god to be the old uncle who died in 1967 but answers with a strong wind when a question is cast his way. Some people believe god is in the details. I’d love to pass out questionnaires …..
“Describe god, as you understand it to be”
Tonight I might describe god as the fire in the gut. The heat of digestion, the functioning emotional core. A clarity. And like all the gods as everyone understands it to be, all over the world, ever, my gut / my god, is far from on fire right now. The ashes are damp. Getting moldy, even. Everything I’ve eaten the past few days, and against my better judgement, sits like glue in my gut.
All the things I should have said but pussed out? They settle, deflated, and take up space. They stick like chewing gum in the digestion tract.
All the good ideas (divine ideas, really) that go left undone? They circle around in the bloodstream, manic-like, disrupting what is supposed to have it’s own miraculous order.
All the babies that never happened? The empty space they’ve left behind? Little pockets of reminisce, wondering, each having left its scar in that emotional core.
So, I light candles and I breathe fire. I stop the pacing and remember to dance. I remember not to name things and I remember that divinity usually happens on a microscopic scale.
I start strategizing good flora.