This is my final piece from the class of the same name this semester. We were to think of what it means to have a life with God and to create a triptych of pieces. These were the result. I wrote another piece in a previous class session that I will share, because I really love it, but it has a lot of formatting that I will need to spend some time with to ensure that it translates online. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this offering.
Being
Golden Joy rises every morning, ready to meet the sun with a smile. Tiny arms stretch skyward, ready to meet the embrace of the world. Blinking into the dawn with genuine wonder, her feet find the wet grass. Insisting that they are flowers, she lovingly plucks yellow dandelions along the way. Tucking them behind her ears, she unabashedly sings a new song to her invisible friend.
Hearing the honeyed voice as it wanders through the window, he rises from his rest to meet his Joy in the world. Seeing her lost in the music of her invisible friend, he lifts his hands, smirks, and proclaims: “Great winds, I command thee to blow!”
Interrupting her song with her own laughter, she spins with her arms open wide as the trees bend to the conjured breeze. Falling down in dizzy delight, Joy beams up at him and the azure sky.
Doing
Her relationship with words was an attempt to wrestle the world down into a book that she could consume and then she would know everything.
That is a lie.
Her relationship with words was an attempt to wrestle the world down into a book that she could publish and then everyone would know that she knew everything.
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Her relationship with words was an attempt to channel creativity into an everflowing, crystalline stream into which she could dip an offering plate, gather up the onyx silt and with a few deft swirls reveal the shiny golden syllables to gift them freely to the world.
That is a lie.
Her relationship with words was an attempt to channel creativity into an everflowing, crystalline stream into which she could dip an offering plate, gather up the onyx silt and with a few deft swirls reveal the shiny golden syllables to gift them to the world in exchange for glory.
Both/And
Is it that the more I know the less I understand or is that the more I understand the less I know?
Searching for certainty is a lost cause unless I want to foray into physics.
Once upon a time, I was an editor on the science and religion team and my dad told me that all science was an attempt to prove the existence of God.
The hubris in that. The unmitigated gall, really.
The bitter gall mixed with wine.
A palliative.
The human urge to know. The human urge to understand.
If we know everything then we have all the answers, right?
The more I know the less I understand; the more I understand the less I know.
The meaning of my husband’s name is a question: who is like God?
My gut tells me that the answer is everybody and nobody.
But me I’m just a lady sheep questioning whether she needs a shepherd.
My gut tells me that the answer is yes and no.
And I listen to my gut, the still small voice, and I heed it for once.
I refrain from the arrogant urge to be too clever by half in crafting an A+ response to the question.
I relax into the tension.
I accept the unknowing.
I fall into the mystery.
I close my eyes, lean in, and listen.
The still small voice breathes into my brain: “both/and.”