my god lives under my feet

Day 237

photo by Michelle Johnsen

photo by Michelle Johnsen

My God

does not wear long robes and cast judgement upon those below from a throne floating somewhere in the sky.

My God

does not reside in cathedrals and churches, temples and shrines, with gold leaf and stained glass windows, boxed in by roof and floor.

My God

does not require confessions and communions,  penance,  purgatory or hell.

My God

is not money, power, or greed.

My God

lives under my feet

in the cool moist soil and the hot desert sands,

crawls like the millipede upon its many legs and wriggles like the worms the Robins like to eat.

My God

lives in the buzzing of the bees’ wings and the thunder of the storm. Dwells under rocks and inside caves, mysterious and dark.

My God is not father,

but mother,

all soft curves and milky breasts,

creative,

passionate,

wild.

My God is not there.

My God is here

in the song of the wood thrush and the babbling of the brook,

in the track of the little deer and the monarch on the milkweed.

in the wails of the whales and the roaming of the bison,

in the cries of the wolves howling at the moon, and

in the soft, reaching tendrils of the honeysuckle covered with dew.

If my God

is the earth

and the earth is in trouble,

what does that say about

my God?

Thank you for listening,

Love,

Natasha

photo by Michelle Johnsen

photo by Michelle Johnsen

 

 

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