I have faith in God. But ugghhghg, even as I write that it seems so lame. I have faith in God—in every lasting miracle of life of which life itself is a breathing example of —look outside, just look beyond your nose, or else stop a while, feel the air at the bottom of your nose, the way the dryness passes among the hairs there in their little rows. Look out past wherever you are this moment, this gaping fillhole of experience that calls to you: look at the air between the you and the other, look at the candle in the holder on the counter the bronzed statue of the roman on his knees melted wax dried dripping down his back, the toy poodle on the beige throw rug at your feet the way his head cocked to one side looks confused like trying to figure out why you are looking down at him, the crumpled tissues next to your laptop on your desk, the pot of coffee across the room gone cold. I have faith in life, see—in the very miracle—wondrous, mysterious, of existence going on about me, and I do not shy away from calling that my own reasonable belief in god, which to me is all things.
The god of my understanding—tho I suppose it isn’t “a” god at all. It is funny to me the way people—myself included, I often do it—cast judgments based on our own perceptions or ideas or applications of a word. I do it all the time, that word, God, it still makes me cringe. With an eye roll I’ll look on, incredulous inside myself if someone I don’t know well brings that up that word and starts going on. Like the funny looks I get from people who don’t know me too well when I talk about going home and needing to pray! I don’t know about this god-head thing: I struggle with my own old trapping of a god-head, of some figment out there in the midst looking over at me, silent-talking and creepily laughing at all I say and claim and think and do. These old Catholic remnants of my childhood come up and all the mores of society that wordlessly perpetuate such norms. But if I am going to lay claim to this belief in a godhead that I struggle with than at least I will be strong enough to make it my own—because it is in fact, my own internalized belief, my own rigid system of self-judgment and denial. I’m too intellectual to believe fully in such a framework, but my intellectualism is so counter-alloof it perpetuates it: what I mean is the idea of a god-head is so complex, so deep down in me and well a part of me that I unknowingly function in the preexistent framework of it all the same, no matter what I do. So I find myself walking around with the judge in my head, always in some varying degree of verdict and blame placed on myself and my own drama of trying to think my way out of it.
It’s not as awful as it sounds. But it is the dictate of a stronger that normal conscience because admittedly I am a woman of extremes. My real belief, in the oneness of things, informs me that it is just me doing the judging and the blaming, hauling the call of guilt all around. Just me and my perfectionism, busy creating god in an image, judgmental, of the darker shadow sides of me!! When my fear is great I am too blind to be in my bliss, I get strung-up and stuck in my head and stop listening to my own myth and stop following my own heart. I stop trusting in the lightness and life of this current moment. And when I stop trusting, when I stop having faith in my own current, working conception of what God experientially has proven to be in my own life, then I pick up my old God, my old tortured systems of belief and being.
Ughghg, god bless this sacred neurosis! This funny human way I have of being.
Anyhow, my faith is with me today, along with my laughter. It feels good. It’s nice to look around with joy in this moment, to look around with faith enough simply to be still…..
Poem today (involving neurosis…)
for Josh
"Little Joke" or
"My Ways"
or "Digressions are how I get there"
I’m sorry,
I’m sorry for my drama. These funny witchy ways
About me. These ways of making consequence
against me
of
It always comes back to me &
Figuring things out. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my ways.
I truly Am
I feel like-- for a thousand years I’ve tried
to tell you this.
But? That’s just me again, Drama? The self-inflicted (get it?
Self—that’s
My Way
making
little joke
my eyebrow notch, bravery or
mockery
whatever me my way
reckoning—recognizing
myself (oooops there I go again
truth is not true
My Self—joke again))
drama of art is my Nature These energy swirls I get caught in—avoid? And then I think—about me—it can’t be true again? Guilt, fuck fuck guilt again?
Then there’s
Avoid the dance? Me? I’m sorry—
Never. It is new moon, I am
Wiling against myself again—
You are on the run.
(you are. check—)
I am home, moon
Moonface, dark gun. Or
dark, sweet fruit dripping down the sides like Rum
Or No thing Nothing, the blank stretch
of this misery, how it tastes so sweet
fun
to those in love
like me, how much we LOVE
the ride! The ride is what
the blank stretch the whole of life presence blank, unfestered or even recognized
unto its self...the ride is what? (Monogamy is pointless we all know that.
Has nothing to do w that.)
we come here for some kind of reckoning w
Our Power. Our lies being told. Not meant to be mean
just me eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ahhhhhhhhhh
**
I am sorry. I am sorry for this
For this, for my ways, for lasagna. Tastes so good
On my farm, in my garden. Read Diprima about me
Take action, ride a bike, plant a garden
Watch tv or buy a god. Find god. It will still
All be the same and I will be sorry
Feasting a while, always to come back come back again
(circle [spiral circle] Circle) spiral
--The light is like gold --
and I will come back again always to this gold, golden grain
--there is knowledge in this,
alchemical let it inform You
(we are smarter than
our selves)—
in this pain, the most mild
& gentle elixir
I will be chief among these to go. I will always be. And
I am sorry—
I will always take you with me. Even to death
& beyond. A thousand seas have bent before me
a million clouded skies. This is our Code. I have it
broke before
your eyes
Sorry I AM for this
**
But not really
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