I am not making a case for god.
See, I ain’t a believer.
I see the role “his” hand has had in history.
In his story.
In her story.
In our stories.
An unreliable narrator and a greedy creator at best.
Because colonization happened and the role of the church is obvious.
Plucking babies from the breasts of their mothers like strange fruit,
stripped of their identities; made nameless and rendered mute.
Like a villain masked in mist that comes in the night for the slaughter
Eating my tongue and turning my lips to ash.
I am not making a case for god because I see the atrocity.
Using barbed wire to define the parameters of love and
Salting the earth where there was once fertile soil and abundance -
It sets my teeth on edge.
But there is this something that I can feel on the warm breath of the wind.
An electricity that prickles my skin or maybe its the voices of my ancestors humming lullabies in my ears and telling me to see.
An ecstasy that my own eyes have borne witness to on mountaintops and
A joy that has poured itself into my mouth on the sea-foam shores of the ocean,
It’s the pull I feel into your arms at night.
An awakening that can only be described in the language of light.
Some might call it a spiritual moment, Or
Something divine but those are not my words.
What I know is the beautiful connectivity that I feel rising from the earth that calls me; it lets me feel you
Can you feel me?
Something that at first, maybe you can neither see
nor smell nor hear nor taste.
Something that is fleeting and known only by touch but is not tangible.
Something that is easy to trust using only the most dishonest of our senses.