This is what I believe in

You asked me once if I believe in God and which one

And I sat for hours, my mind leaking over pages

until suddenly

the ink bled into the center:

 

I don’t believe in a God that’s just

Because my heart and my mind have grown up too much for that

I’ve seen the darkest corners of desires explode out

into an empty universe

only to splatter across the sky and paint the stars

Broken fragments of the way things once were

wandering around as I’m wondering had life been kinder

then perhaps I’d be wiser

 

But I do believe in a God that listens

that kneels down and breathes us in

and maybe perhaps can’t reach down and change us

but can at least reach down and lift us –

gently—

from underneath the shadows of our demons

that haunt us, that have stained us.

 

I don’t believe in a God that’s omnipotent

Because power can transform and corrupt even the heavens

blurring out into some amoral sense of protection, of liberty

of the vague of idea that keeping me ignorant will keep me safe

as if somehow education and reason are the poison

and ignorance is the cure

as if knowing that something exists only within my mind

is the same as not existing

 

But I do believe in a God that’s an infinite

that can span across the thousand little atoms within me

that can guide me

A God who’s not afraid to admit she can be wrong

that mistakes have been made and is ready to remedy it

ready to face it.

I believe in God that points but doesn’t push

that trusts but doesn’t force

that knows pain and all that lives within it

A God that doesn’t interfere but could paste together this jigsaw of me

until every tiny piece resonates in harmony.

 

This is what I believe in.

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