poem

 Birth of the Divine

The birth of any divinity is announced with a sudden awareness arising within consciousness that desires only to see the entirety of itself. The newly minted god knows the only path toward this end begins with giving himself away completely. To become the absolute object of contemplation. And so he empties himself into the eyes of the others, tiny portholes by the trillions punctured in the fabric of the occlusive cloak. From the beginning of time someone else thinks they have been looking, watching, wondering, remembering. But god forgot to think things through. Infinity was neglected, as it so often is. He didn’t understand what he had unleashed. The desire to know more is insatiable. Each fact interacts with and begets another. Then groups of three and four.  Tribes. Groves. Amber waves of grain. Love triangles and wounded looks. Constellations and galaxies. Fracturing and recombining in ever more complex relationships. It’s one thing after another. Ad infinitum. Over such a timeline everything possible has to happen. The god begins to realize he will never get himself back. Ouroboros. He grows silent and sad. He forgets he was once everything. Meanwhile we are left with no choice but to become ourselves. God becomes the void we gaze upon on quiet Coltrane evenings with the dying God's own eyes.

4/28/24