What you would call My hands fashioned everything you see & taste that stays unconjured by your human doings, despite all of your techno-progress you only hear because I allow silence & the music it ravishes to tickle your ear-drums for the overwhelming surety that only I ever-lastingly matter. You keep speculating that there was necessarily some thin yesterday when I never existed, tho your own aging rattles your sense of My impalpable immortality, tiny & huge as I am as the Natural majesty unfindable  amidst your micro-chips, let Me be Myself & you might survive. There was no life & there was only slowly-evolving life, there was always light & air & water along with this tectonic crunching of the ground to up-raise the land to hills & mountains before anything crawled or flew air-borne, I made & watched it all as the finest scientist to never own any prize, so I laugh when you think your discoveries brighten your horizons farther than I already possess. In your laboratories or at your conferences, no one asks who is this daedal being who always eclipsed the wealth of our knowledge, who without instruments or computers calculated the perfection of all living history?

Cells swelling past the plants & fish, past the insects & the other mammals toward you who uprightly rose to seek Me skyward as the first ones asking are we the final surprise of life,  cultures & the gods of your making to explain how I work, silly soap opera gods & goddesses scheming & fighting in the sky expressing the whims of your imagination—this foolery what the Israelites inherited to shrink such godly mayhem down to one Creator, worshipped & forgotten in ardor or idolatry until I wearied of how you only wrongly reject Me, since I never wrote anything but truly gifted you the workable mercy of life as it squirms & shouts. I was never some bunch of old stories recitable by children in the summertime while singing & playing in rusted churches lost to who I purely am. To memorize & study the Bible is to glimpse what you could say about Me, tho I am no quotable living Scripture, but My hands & My benevolence are silently befitting you with your nimbler sense of My grace,  mystery filling the vacuum between you & I that I will never describe to you, because you will smelt it into something crudely teachable, tho what you suck from Me aligns you rightly.

I gave thumbs & thinking about yourselves to have you look for Me in sky & soul beyond all other creatures Ark-borne before & after tragedy’s grinning signatures, I knew you were always the unshrunken gluttony of feasting upon idols, carved & sensuous, to fondle & drool as clutchable signs of Me to be buried in graves, as later came the Crosses for the votively righteous—-such nothing between you & I not plastic but edible, lending lyrics to songs about “forgettable Me” to receive all that is earthly cherishable then & now, since psyche gobbles religion & spits out its doctrinal carcasses. I became exhausted by the arguments & the clerical pedigrees, the selfishness of those who falsely understood Me against those still heralding My favour—-all of you beguiled by your own stupid rumours that I could somehow be theologized in sermons & wafers as our God we know, how I love you known to no one else besides My wonder-full Son. Jesus is admittedly no one without Me, I breathed Myself into Him at His birth & gemmed His spine with everything you could witness & ponder, I told Him to startle you awake to shed you deader religion to recover Me beyond stories & Scripture as you radiating Creator—no Trinitarian system inexplicable in its circular gaseous confusion, but rather how I flooded Him with My sense of your worldly purpose—Jesus sometimes still smiles at Me, tho He wonders about the wilting realm of His crucifixional gift, the weight of our wisdom being what uglier tonnage.

                       June 26 & 28-29, 2017

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