Writing exercise on God (By Angela, Mia, Jessica, and Nathaniel)
1. He exists.
He is everywhere, He is everything; He is every rock and stone,every trees and beasts;He is the grass we walk on, the flowers we pluck; He is the water we drink, the food we eat. He is the skies and the stars, the moons and the planets. He is us.
The Christians call him God. The Muslims named him Allah. Others recognize and worshipshim as Adonai, Yahweh,Elohim,El-Olam,El-Elyon,El-Shaddai,Jehovah-Nissi,Jehovah-Jireh,Jehovah-Tsidkenu,Jehovah-Hoseenu ,Jehovah-Eloheenu, the Omnipotent, the Almighty, the Lord.
I call Him nothing. God is only another human term. Who is God? I do not believe in God. I only believe in the nameless one.
Church is for those who do not have the confidence to worship him alone. The cross is only a symbol of sacrifice, and no more than that; for the nameless one had done more than sacrifice; he had create and destroy, receive and give,grow and die; He had live. And He had died.
For none could have the wisdom He have, unless one experience life and death, and still exists.
I wish I could see larger, that the horizon of my eyes stretched farther out, to see the curve of the earth
the vastness of the ocean could ring in me true
I wish I could feel the size of the universe like the throbs of a heartbeat
And that I could pray by laying my head down on your chest
until our rhythms aligned
hairs pricked up my spine until I fell in love
i close my eyes in the bathtub and hear rain attacking
the pain of glass
bleeding video streamed cruelty
bonfires of young executives and cashmere sweaters
with starbucks stains cement taste in my mouth
moss growing on every shoe and banned trucks
bridging narrow stones crumbling
packed houses and magazine only big eyes
sharp mother breaths from the news
silent explosions in space
green veins standing out, tabs flicked to pass on the savagery
if i could stream the sound of this big rock
would i hear more screams or laughs
more music or more grave tolls
more crosses or more trees on the hills?
And wider focus, would my every thought average out
thousand outliers of civilizations insignificant
in the endless speed up empty rush
I need hotter water, maybe a book
Someone elses thoughts to echo off these tiles.
3. Have faith, the preachers said.
Believe believe believe.
Ask and you will be answered,
seek him and you will find.
But God, I’m still confused.
God, I’m still lost.
I can’t see, I do not know
what’s right before me.
The innocence in little kids’ eyes,
is that you, God?
Rain pouring down like tears–
is that you, God?
Oh the white pure clouds,
are you there God?
Where can I find you?
Where are my answers?
Oh God, it’s not that I don’t believe,
Where are you?
The most wonderful thing about everything and then about each thing… well, that’s what I heard God is. You might be wondering who I might hear a thing like that from, but that’s a tale I’d like to save until later in this talk. For now let me just say that when that message reached my ear in all it’s moist breathiness I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was true. It was a peace inducing thing; liberating in a way that seldom arises in stories like the ones you find on paper, screen or stage. It was a message as different to me as a sudden switch from two to a thousand compound eyes might be. And I could’ve died, except really it more than anything else seemed to be the sort of thing that would bind one to life like babe to breast. It was a dragon burning and clawing away at indifference… fire in the flesh. It was perspective.
Now the tale. I was sitting by a body of water -a lake or a river- on a smooth stone. It was a dark stone, wide and oblong, carved by ages and softened against the skin by tears, naps, drying clothes, bloody carcassas butchered for food, babies being born, the feet of sojourners looking out and mediating passers by. It was a kind whore of a rock, home to this person or that for quite some time should they stay or but a moment should they not. It absorbed the stories of those that worked and dreamt there and gave them back only to those that didn’t ask. This is where I was when the truth collapsed onto me like I was that old stone… like I was a rocking chair and it was an old man back from the kitchen with a cold-one and his good smoking pipe. I played my role, and to this day I wonder what might’ve happened if I’d refused to. Would time have reversed? Would my chips have been cashed in by a casino patron to grand for me to fathom?
I listened and was at once converted into the very thing I was listening too. I became what was whispered to me. It was the song of the swallow, the bite of the bear, the bee’s sting. What was time while that whisper whispered, and where was what? That glass is liquid made sense in that moment, the contemplation of cold lava. The mist from the water is what done it. It patched itself into the song from beneath the soil, the song of possibility and burned with the sun into my very skin. Nothing mattered more, words like like “okay” and “I guess” melted away into a sea of “yes.” It was a garden of eden moment, so you might expect to hear that it was an elephant or something -the opposite of a serpent- that spoke, but it wasn’t. The voice was from a soaring bird from within me, it flew to speak, the wind it rode was its subject matter: God is the most wonderful thing about each and every thing.Posted in New BAM, truth