Holy Ground

I used to think God was in dust motes.
To me there was nothing more spiritual
than a stripe of sunlight through the window
illuminating the invisible.
Churches were holy places
inspiring my wonder to believe
but it got a little more complicated
when I had to eat the body and drink of his son:
I thought Jesus just turned water into wine,
not the blood of my covenant,
always thicker than the water of my womb.
Aren’t the most important things what you get to choose?

I’ve always been one to look for answers.
I couldn’t settle for predestination—
it must all be answered through meditation!
Travel all the way around the world
just to settle my skepticism.
But karma is only a great concept for the pious,
A little less so for those of us who tripped on a root,
fell down the rabbit hole
and ended up in Wonderland.
It’s hard to make decisions
when there’s smoke clouding your vision
And I’m not sure judgment on the turn of the wheel
is really any different.

Good thing they sells books on magic
right in the middle of Wal-Mart!
There’s something to be said for instant gratification.
In addition to offering a feminine deity
there’s also the power to drink the blood of your enemies.
Or wait, isn’t that Satanic?
No, turns out they’ve got the best more compass of anyone,
like what you expected the commandments to be.
Light a candle and put the athame between your teeth.
Do you think they burned witches because they were nice?
We’re burning incense tonight.
I joined a coven of my own creation,
tried to heal,
because you can’t let hate
be the only flame in your whole life.

Get yourself a familiar:
A black cat, bright green eyes.
He’s your conscience, but the flip side.
Don’t worry who tries to tell you
what box you fit in
because you can just ask the cat—
it’s very different, the one
you put yourself inside.

Worship the moon.
Worship your mother.
Worship the purple soles of your feet
stomping through fallen mulberries beneath the trees.
Really, I guess you just need to worship something,
spiritually.
What would you do without the links of a leash
hands holding tight over your lips
while you wait for the commands:
roll over, sit up, SPEAK.

Now, I tell everything like jokes:
A Ouija board and a Tarot deck
will walk into a bar.
At least, that’s what my tea leaves told me.
They were also there in the past, surely,
and now it’s the present, some kind of gift
because I don’t think anything happens when you die.
You’re just in the ground, buried, or burned on the breeze.
So why don’t you make your life the best heaven it can be
and go on, live the hell out of it.