Aching for the sacred,
the symbolic mind plays roles –
squeezes mystery from history:
sifts through centuries’
inspired elaboration
of some anecdotal sight:
creates a sacerdotal rite –
takes sod and makes a god
or two. Pass the Holy Chicken
through! Priests’ feasts!
Kings’ rings! Eat, kiss, sacrifice –
the stakes are dire! Gods require
blood. Mythologize a flood.
Everything has meaning.
Everyone is leaning
to the left or right –
straining to pick up the latest
source of spirit-light. I have no
lead to share, no bead on what
is worth our care. Strange
and riveting – our robes
and holy doodads, though –
our prayerful poetry’s
odd solemn flow – as if
it knew somewhere to go –
the inside story on will be
and is and was. Perhaps it does.
.
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