POEM: The Iconoclassism of Godliness

She was in
A class by her self
Staring at her teacher
In a too room school hows
By two mirror subjects taut
Assure as three
Bound by know
Student lones
Only that body
Of know ledge
From the school of hard knocks
And missing class

This is a poem about the necessarily eccentric and lonely aspect of in relation to the unique set of experiences we each have and the personal, subjective experiences we each have with the of mysteries sometimes called God.  Each person’s unique place in bids a certain iconoclastic attitude.  Every class room we are placed in is constricting in some fashion or another.  Any body of knowledge we amass is ever facing a ledged uncertainty.  Staring into the or the eyes of a loving is subject to doubt.  is a humbling enterprise, requiring perpetual re-righting of our of any given day.  The spaciousness of our souls bids us forward and outward into necessary uncertainty.  This may very well be the built in adventure of life, both exhilarating and exasperating, inspirational and overwhelming, profoundly satisfying and deeply unnerving.  Whatever we may have for a common is bound up in each of our unique, irreducibly ineffable, and inescapably iconoclastic take on life.  There is no formula that works for awe.  The full cannot dance mirrorly to an algorithm.

The line in this poem, “Assure as three,” is a somewhat obscure reference to the concept of the Spirit, the third person in the Trinity, the counselor and comforter.  The reference is from Ecclesiastes 4:12 (NLT), amidst text extolling the advantages of companionship and the futility of power: “A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.”  The Spirit is more resistant to rigid theologies and ideologies than The Father and The Son.  The Spirit is more of a wild card, unpredictably navigating us through the apparent vagaries of life, ever shifting yet creating anew.  More secular folks may refer to such as conscience, some gestalt of that we are, accessing something profound yet palpable to those open to its guidance.  The iconoclastic of is informed by the direct of our deepest realities, which often doesn’t neatly match where others before us, or as a whole, happens to be at in any given moment.  I see this as the deepest force itself, making evolution, and when needed, revolution, possible.  We are in this mess together.  I strongly suspect that a deep appreciation for each others’ iconoclasm and eccentricities is a necessary foundation for a good which grows the better.

May you find a lucid relationship with that small, still voice, your open to the deepest rhythms of life.  May you find companionship in your sojourn through this mess.

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