I.

In the beginning there was The Void

Winged with possibilities

Of which you are one.

Teeming with half- existence jewels

Beautiful, perhaps, before there was sight

I believe there was happiness then.

But lo!

From her glittering guts was born

A child! A mind to impose upon her emptiness-

To fill her vacuous belly with thought and dreams of things to come

What fun!

That through sight

She would blossom with light

Through taste she would drip with both nectar and poison

Through thought she would be built by great deities.

Oh, what a grand adventure to be had!

What a marvelous game, to draw up the universe, dark an dim,

And build our fantastic castles within!

(Or perhaps, to let be what was, and surrender ourselves to the mighty Void where All might have been One)

What a gift! Thought!

Infinite and free;

To lose ourselves in this mystery!

II.

Yet Man, crushed by the great wobbling Heap of possibilities,

And smashed by the burden of creating realities,

Form the Great Reality from his grievances and

Collapsed upon the same

Half- golden spec out of The Heap

Time after time

The Pattern reigned

And creation was slain.

Oh, was slain, but hid still!

Such iron will!

Faded from memory and became a Tale of Old.

Oh, woe was he, this poor Man!

Bereft of all power and burdened with

This massive responsibility.

Such were the piteous thoughts

That conceived God.

When man, in the pinnacle of his conceit

Fashioned an idol in his likeness

A golden calf, and into it he breathed

What potential happiness he himself

Had failed to attain.

AND ENDED CREATION.

III.

And sent his unfinished journey hurtling skyward

A half-finished saga rent asunder with but a word.

Out of his sight

Beyond this great realm

So was made Heaven

And the pit that is Hell.

Said he, “Look!

The journey is ended and

Rest has come at last

God not I is the creator.

And I can but serve his great will!

Behold, he created my faults

But my strengths are my own.

He holds my happiness

My reward and my punishment in his hand.

At last the path is set!”

IV.

Oh, you bloody fool!

In giving life to your golden God you have

emptied out your own!

Your blessed sight has flown.

You have died in childbirth.

Turned from the wheeling skies to kiss the ground

Ended a road that could have

Gone on forever.

Now you can never dissever

Your soul from this tiny circling path

You will travel, a bug on a stick on a boat in the endless sea.

The hammer you wrought to smash your halo has been twisted into a half-eaten apple.

(What is wrong with the apple, anyway? What evil can be found in knowledge?

Taste it! And see what heavenly nectar your tongue has long forgotten)

V.

There is no God. Break your chains, my child, for they have never existed.

YOU ARE GOD.

So do it. Right now.

Get up off your knees!

Take off your clothes and dance in the front yard!

Scream it at the top of your bleeding lungs! You are god!

Paint yourself blue, fly…

Dust off your spirit and create anew what is real.

Snatch joy from the palms of the almighty and rub it all over your face. Bathe in it.

Sit down and do nothing but think for an hour and forty-five minutes. You’ll never watch TV again.

Fling yourself from a cliff and hover above the ground.

Refuse to die.

Learn to live.