never on sunday
“Do you believe in God?” He asked.
“No,” I said without thinking.
Later, I reconsidered.
I feel the existence of of a higher power, spirit, universal energy, a force I can’t identify or name.
Whatever it is, it doesn’t belong to Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism or any of the others. I believe in angels, but I don’t believe in religion.
And i believe that spirit and i co-create my human experiences while the devil’s daughters enlist souls and saints to point crazy fingers then whisper behind pearly gates or shout from on high my inability to deny sins watched by sightless eyes and heard by deafened ears until i want to scream here we are: betrayed! here we are: forsaken! here we are: crucified! all for the sake of games like i spy the religious writing on the wall and wonder what in christ it means when preachers mistake hell for heaven and administer platitudes to calm shaking hands that reach up and out and i ask myself why offer sacraments where evil patronizes and organizes before it sanctifies social conventions with holy intentions that fool the blind into believing some god witnesses undelivered mercy as the faithful curtsy, and i see what you don’t and i say what you won’t and i pray for a miracle in which mine is the kingdom, mine is the power and mine is the glory forever and ever amen. That’s what I believe. But never on Sunday.
© Susan Macaulay 2015. I invite you to share my poetry and posts widely, but please do not reprint, reblog or copy and paste them in their entirety without my permission. Thank you.