The Writing on the Wall

"God is the Imagination"
William Blake


The disembodied hand writing on the wall lets fall the simple lines in burning red that say:
Man Created God.

The villagers flash and flail, so much recoiling and I-told-you-so-ing. Some stare at the floor: grave robbed and crestfallen. Others angrily wave flags, the words congealing into montras on chewed up tongues. A call to arms, a call to argument, a song of negation. "We won, we won, there is no God."

But the writing on the wall never said there was no God. This was only assumed after such powerful a statment.

An artist carefully steps over the bodies and makes her way to the front of the chaos. She raises her hand to gain the crowds' attention. She pauses in silence then puts forth the question, "Isn't this rather a cause for celebration?"

The believers scream "Nay!" till they're blue in the face.
The negators shout "Yay!" Then they "nay" and negate..


As the noise dies the artist continues to say,
"Look at the beautiful mirrors we've created.
Are they not pictures of ourselves as ourselves creating?
Look at the rendering of furrows and wisdom,
The insight and pain and the loss and forgiveness.
Look at the lightning and darkness and terror,
The suffering and irreverent flaunting of power,
Listen now to the tenderness flowing in water.
Over rocks and through mountains: the sounds of surrender.
Look at those rules that were made to be broken.
And look at these broken rules fixed upon motion.
Our many eyes peek through the time stretched beard lines
All tangled with ghosts and chimes
Endlessly looking out from their positions
Along the double rhyming skeletal spirals that snake rootward towards depths unfathomable.


Listen my child, lay down thy sword.
Take up thy quill, and thy staff, and thy scepter.

Put your pen at any a point on a blank piece of paper.
Where is the line between the made and the maker?
There is only one way and God is a circle,
Walk any which wangle you're bound for returning.

The Lord is my paintbrush, the Earth is my canvas.
She angles me my valleys and shadows
She sets my horizons and lines of perspective.
The Lord is my center, my vision, my dot.

Follow this line and you'll find streets of gold,
The Kingdom of Heaven, the philosopher's stone.