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The word god is out of fashion with some of us now, and I myself never use it.
Having for so long used goddess or spirit or anything that grated less on my soul, and so, I was completely flummoxed when this poem flowed out with “god” in the title. But the further I wrote, the more my pen insisted that this was the word we were using, and that god was she, he, they, in their many manifestations of where we can find the divine.
And so I stopped fighting the flow, because in the end, we can all decide for ourselves what god/dess is or isn’t and be curious about our own journey with mystery.
god is real if…
they are the hum of the blood in my veins
and the strength of the marrow in my bones
if she is the early morning mist on the breath of a hungry wolf
if she is the call of a seagull through the sound of crashing waves
if he is the wind whipping clouds into a froth of celestial pillows
if he is the sun sinking behind the red stones of Sedona’s
high desert
if she is the breath of my granddaughter
and the laughter of the women I birthed long ago
from the sacredness of my womb
if she is the falling of ancient stars
and the turning of leaves in autumn
if they are the seeds inside a pomegranate
the sand on a thousand shores
the delirium of swarming bees
the pounding of my heart
the organizing of my cells
the space between my thoughts
the return of swallows to their summer grounds
the surrender of life to the earth
if god is real, they are the feelings we cannot name
~
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