My mother and I enjoy a good repartee over religion. She is a very avid member of her church and is a not unaccomplished word-smith. To get the full force of this her poem you should read it slowly and a-loud, remembering that she sent it to me as a response to our dialogue over the law of attraction, perception of the divine, and role of sacred scripture. I particularly love the last stanza. There are so many things going on there, that it almost leaves me not knowing where to turn first.
Today I stumbled upon a new platitude
That says all things depend on my attitude.
So the sage insists,
In some ephemeral mental latitude.
There are those who seek solace in meditation
Or trust in some bard’s proclamation.
The problem, it seems to me,
Even with spirituality,
Is it is limited by human imagination.
My bootstraps are sadly pathetic.
My consciousness peripatetic.
I’m so glad that I’m
Loved by a God so divine
He cannot possibly be defined by my rhetoric.
My response, imitating the meter of one of my favorite poets, focuses on what I see as not only the antidote for overly contentious doctrines but also the common ground between Christianity and paganism.
Sorcerers, Seers, and Sages blind
Their tangled words have left behind
Attempting their God above to find
But ne’er succeeded;
And though they’ve left us in a bind
We’ve oft them heeded.
Likewise our own beclouded sights,
Our oft too silly, senseless flights
Of reason, and the winged nights
Have left us wanting;
All these heady, joyous heights
Are naught but vaunting.
Yet still a simple glass of wine,
A strain of music, friends of mine,
And p’rhaps a pig on which to dine
Will curb our sorrow;
Fellowship shows the light divine
And greets the morrow.
I look forward to our next round.