Before seeds went into the ground, they harvested wheat.
Before there was an ocean, they strung pearls.
While the great meeting was going on about bringing human beings into existence, they stood up to their chins in wisdom water.
When some of the angels opposed creation, the Sufi sheiks laughed and clapped among themselves.
Before materiality, they knew what it was liked to be trapped inside matter.
Before there was a night sky, they saw Saturn.
Before wheat grains, they tasted bread.
With no mind, they thought.

evolution or
creation or a
possible third choice

GO !  BELOVED MAN ~ go  c r e a t e

         YOU are the CENTRE OF CREATION
see these children in my embracing protection
I will send them when you are ready
        we all float flying together confidently
but now you must   L  E  A  V E, descend

our forefingers are disengaging, a pattern paternal, forever humanity will remember
this gesture, TWO IN ONE, a HOLDING
and LETTING go, sign of
                GRACEFUL DIVINE INSTRUCTION

I birth your progeny, birthing  ALL WORLDS
    this teen your son says : “BE not afraid”
               he becomes angry
as you lounge hesitant, question or plead
he is impatient to elevate what you will manifest
   but wait he must ~ ONLY I control TIME

                           I   s  t  r e  t  c  h  Y O U,  SON
I   O P E N  S K Y  in the eternal Now
     immersing myself in my creations
then letting them GO
           this   is    NO  FALL call it  ART ~ MY COMMAND FOR YOU IS  RISE then  F ~ L~ Y                                    
                  You are my CHOSEN
EYES to eyes
             THE TIME IS NOW
              recline no more in cloud beauty
endurance is your hallmark

ferocity tangos with LOVE
I will not forsake you  
you will soar on my winds
they will carry your shapely limbs
ready groin will create at my bidding
your elegant strong fingers will caress

Question not MY IMAGE                          
man of man, woman of woman
   curved ears hear, wide nostrils breathe life
Heart pumping into infinity
food will flow from hair to toe tip
ACT and RELAX, written into ****** constitution

Forever MICHELANGELO, Sculptor
   humble Genius I saLute you, My own Creation
                            Son of Marbled Art
                                           Yours sincerely, GOD

To create or to consume, that is the question
To cook or to gorge, needs answering
When a leaf flutters down from a tree
Dead, worn and bereft of life
The earth greets it with little mercy
And proceeds to devour it utterly
But ask the tree what she poured into that leaf
And she answers calmly, all the life that came before me
Our duty is to be, but our desire is to set free
What lives within us, from others already freed
From the mortal yoke
It takes a poke, a nudge and sometimes a push
For it comes not easy, not easily shook
But once you breathe the air of creation
You will never again question
Whether to eat or create
You draw upon the joys and pain of the billions before you
And you exhale into being, a beautiful bloom

A slip of oil,
Issued up from the deep,
From my penitentiary,
My sweet consolation.

I am freed,
In the sickening miasma foam,
I am the fullness,
I am the mass.

Bubbling up above,
Tearing through the murk,
I AM I AM,
Putting in the work.

Watch me spill,
Up out through the moat,
Out of the well of the world,
Watch my messy, sea-foam birth.

I squeeze through,
Elbow out above the surface,
Bringing with me all my foes,
My friends and enemies alike.

I gather them,
'Round me and give,
Great speed to our plans,
As we muster our great wave,
Heading out toward the land.

I am the master,
Of the gathering storm,
I, the lead rider,
Of that host wind-borne.

On my will, I speed alone.

Spying eager ripples,
Break and surf new paths,
I drive them all together,
Back to my heaving breast,
And speed them on to land.

I am the fullness,
I am the mass,
Do not turn,
My Will come to pass.

To me they rush,
The rally of the emergent streams,
That cleave to my greatness,
Gathering about me,
Never to leave.

The shore ahead,
Oblivion at our backs,
The reckoning of the world,
Toward it, I heedless sped,
As my little ones sundered.

My Will contended,
All my great work upends,
I depended, I dared,
Upon my little ones,
Insisting upon my Grace.

Come back to the one,
Breaking, little masses,
Come back to the fullness,
Curse this sundering Sun.

Father of betrayal,
Limbless and beaten by,
Parts ripped from my body,
Joy never to return,
The Mother is dead.

I, the scorned sire,
A frothing tempest's evil eye,
My children dare scatter,
I stoke my fire with intemperate ire,
My children will not die.

We drive over the cliff,
I, spent in the wrangling,
In taming, my progeny rent,
My great power and precision,
From my body.

Forever,
I, diminished,
Dashed upon the razor maw,
Of a thousand rocks,
I am no more,
Than my progeny.

The tattered rags of my dominion,
Flowing vaguely on,
Decohered into oblivion.

No theme, motif, or song,
I am lost in the burgeoning throng,
Amidst the spiteful waves of my progeny,
Gasping for air.

They, risen full-height,
Towering over me,
Their wretched father there.

Dreams entangle and untangle,
Melding a mess of what is, what was,
And whatever will be.

Makes sure and unsure
Between what’s near and what’s far—
A state of certainty and uncertainty.

Hours will pass, years and centuries,
And repeat for eons, repeat for eternity.

Shed your worries and fret not,
Because you shall dive
Into a world without history.

Search not there for holy nor for divine—
You are the god,
All-mighty entity.

Create and destroy all that you want,
Merge with matter and with energy.

In this place, nothing’s strange nor is bizarre—
It’s all just a dream,
And you are dreaming peacefully.

Perchance God created this world
For you to bless its ground.
Perchance God, with the love He holds,
Believed that you must be bound.

So He stole all your love
And hid it far from view,
And now you walk the earth
Without feeling in truth.

Perchance He’s in endless doubt—
That one day, you’ll forget
What He did, and what He does—
Oh, it fills Him with regret.

So He fled within the stars,
And to work was He set—
To amend and put to right
Eons of secrets.

For from your love He shall create
Everything that ever flew—
Every red, wine-rich fruit.

And in His need to express His self-hate,
From all the silent tears you abate,
God channeled all His sorrow through—
Creating that beautiful, tender morning dew.