God rid me of God.

God rid me of God.

Of the smallness of that which I comprehend.
Of the arrogance to believe that I
see clearly
That these answers I hold
so dearly
could be just another notch on this belt
of my own insecurity.

They may help to hold up my pants but they ¢â‚¬â„¢ll never let me run free.

So liberate me from the idolatry of abstraction.
That I would be radically undone.
You are unknown
even as I know you.

You are at one and the same as close as my skin
yet as far away as the moon on some other planet on some other day.
Yet I still feel your breathe on my cheeks
I can see you now but I cannot see you,
I know you but I don ¢â‚¬â„¢t know you
Your transcendent immanence.
Where distance and closeness are two sides of the same coin.
So let me keep this coin in the pocket in my chest and sometimes
I ¢â‚¬â„¢ll take it out and flick it in the air,
but it never lands to show me where you are,
whether near or far.

So God rid me of God.
God rid me of God.

Of the names that I write on your forehead,
for they ¢â‚¬â„¢re not the reality, the totality of you.
They would be better scribed upon my own, for that is what they are.

I can see you now but only through glasses thick with lenses embedded with colours painted from the years of my own understanding.
The world around me becomes what I perceive it to be.
I do not see you as you are,
I see you as I maybe.
I am in bondage to these things that I think I know.
My idols are my understandings set in stone.

So stay liquid God even as I try to freeze you into my moulds,
especially the one that looks just like me.

Your water in me,
all around me,
may I be a sponge on the bottom of the ocean lost
in the expanse of you.
The mystery of God is looking into the sun,
to be undone by the absolute excess of light.
So that even as I see you my eyes are blinded by you
and this light is undefinable yet undeniable
and I am left to delve into the knowing of the unknowing
where the light becomes so bright the mystery is found in the fact that I cannot look lest I go blind.

So leave it all behind.
Leave behind the machinations of the intellect.
Leave behind the senses and all things sensible.
Beyond reason. Beyond rationality.
Leave behind the categories of what this is meant to be.
The Who-ness of God dwells in inaccessibility.

Leave it all behind that thou mayest arise by unknowing towards the divine.
Untill we find the paths where our stories fall back upon each other.
Here in the weavings of the webs of each others truth
the waves of the wind may pound against us but they ¢â‚¬â„¢ll never break us.

This thing called God is not a thing at all,
not a theoretical problem to be solved,
but a mystery to dance within.
So take my hands with yours and lets dance to the rhythm of her beat,
my feet may stumble as we do as I,
enclosed in the captivity of the senses,
peep through the curtain yet stumble back in to the darkness in fear that I would be consumed by you.

So God rid me of God.
God rid me of God.

I ¢â‚¬â„¢ll never seek to define you again.
I ¢â‚¬â„¢ll not speak of you again
in words that are not metaphor,
that are not these poetics where similes drip from my tongue
to speak of that which cannot be spoken.

God rid me of God.

Till I find you in the silence of my breath.

www.joelmckerrow.com