Tuesday, 4 March 2014

58. A True Berean Reading, with No False Divisions

Don’t accept that dispensationalist god!
Write your own texts for living this life
To divide & combine them as you will
Nothing fixed can hold the fluid truth

Don’t worry about the origins of all this
Improvisation from pus & blood most likely
Insubstantial as memories – look now!
Count the mourners, not the dead

That jewelled head of mystery
Was set up to blind & mock us
Here, rather love its surface shine
Seen in clarity let it tell

Your energy will stare right at your heart
Its pulse, its wounded pulse, will not falter yet
But push your life around your body still
No one owns nor has made you but ourselves

Each day’s scratched writings are true
As the whole round sky and sea & rainclouds
Spurting blood on our dear world of rubbish
Life brought to us in the ashes of stars

At this chapel (& yes, good people can come here)
We ate bread & cake, drunk wine outside
And a gust of power & insubstantial memory
Told us how life & new life can blow in

You choose your truth, tried, because
This whole world is hard but there isn’t another
And there isn’t a set of rules or a plan decreed
Just picking it up together carrying on

These are desperate times, & true, this
Looks just like another life in dreams & empty language
Drinking milk & being innocent won’t save us
But we can now pause & think to reharness power

Not through hard & discrete words but writing
This sort of mush or mess, a scary mask that
Is what we are made of, & will resist
The simple lies that block our mouth & eyes

Somehowness, ah, that’s a good word & a strange one
Its power of apparent unrelatedness can
Intervene in mind, memory & world & we
Can see & work that something we have in common
                                      that joint free enterprise
                                      that’s all our business now 

No comments:

Post a Comment