Monday, September 1, 2014

The Root and the Stem (a Prose Poem)

I don’t know if dogs love God, they don’t hate Him, I do believe; perhaps dogs have better sense than their masters—they don’t stare into the woods like so many humans do, trying to figure out the secret of existence. They simply live life, and for the most part, let live.  Maybe we humans have too much and too deep an imagination. We want it all—the root and the stem! And once we have it, it is still not enough. There is magic in evolution, there needs to be, it is simply a final cry into a black hole for empty souls to shovel something into. Devoid of God, one must put something other than silence into it; something, anything, lest they acknowledge God, and that would not do.

Uninfluenced by light, or logic, something is better than nothing, thus, making it transcendent and recognizing it as something, makes it something, for some folks, everything. He now has the root and the stem, and a filled-in hole that was once empty—; the pathway has been raked and cleared of all stones, what more can one ask for; indeed God is replaced with a prize, humble karma from the once pitied, who now rules the day.  The dog, he watches all this: give him a mind to reason, he will give man good advice, perhaps suggest burying righteousness, to shut up and stop playing the fool. 

#1281/ 3/23/2006 [written in Lima, Peru]