the birth of god

is the birth of the line

i think one of the best answers i have ever gotten,

i received from a dear friend to whom I asked,

‘do you believe in god’

to which she replied, ‘what does that mean’

another friend, some time later, made the point

rather than ask one another whether or not we believe in god

we ought to ask

what is god?

the answer to that question,

now, that,

would be worth both ears;

the first line

is the father of god,

the god father,

you might say

the original partition

with the fall of the grains

in the hands of an immature intellect

has been poorly cultivated

lines were given reality

and truth abandonment

the continuum of existence is undivided

the matter is arguably indisputable

the subatomic and cosmological universes look strikingly similar,

the shades of physical interaction span a spectrum

that is incomprehensible,

unknowable

beyond

the animal human

the words that offer us dimensions

render our thoughts ultimately circular,

as no dimension exists outside the word,

and our thoughts see no dimensions without the word

yet the immature intellect,

fearing love and spiting humility,

you might notice,

gloriously feasts upon the lines

and harms its partners in unity,

brothers, friends, caretakers,

as it sells freedom as chattel to the master,

belief

that that line,

all lines,

are real;

god, for a great many of us,

is an idealized form,

the sleeping fruit of a young collection of mortals,

and an irrefutable reason to contain the self

you see your skin

and you see the end of you

and the face of innocence’s murderer,

but, also, perhaps,

you feel the breathe of hope

and hear the armies of passion

rising to the summons of beauty,

for what a beautiful thing,

the line is

the projection of form,

the expression that is art,

the final evolution of the line

a state of being where,

when,

without thought,

the lines come together in a project of living together,

the stories intersect and play

as might children in space

and the fetters of necrophilic domestication are lost

as wild civilization

gives life purpose

by taking it away

-j

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