A poem of a post

Love Transcends Self
or
Why I believe in Jesus

a poem

I
Reason slaps imagination, as imagination is shackled to make-believe.
Yet, reason ungrounded walks in jackboots demanding papers. And

what to do with memory? Does the beating I took for my defiance
at refusing to eating spinach nails me to a personality of martyrdom? Forever

asking the world to answer injustices. I imagine the three year old I was.
Pleading for understanding as his father strikes to the rhythm for "be

a good boy." It has been forty years, get over it. Memory acts
as counterrevolutionary sentencing the future to the doom of repeating

patterns of the past. The funnel cloud of the mind lays waste to the mind.
Through the dark crevices of the mind, the rabbit chases the shadow of self,
multiplying the doubts, and gnawing the green leafs and the budding flowers

II

Then, as if by spring, the mind empties. The name of God wells up
from the depths and breaths into the nostrils. The logs from the eyes

fall, and see a baby with wide blue eyes. Empty beyond the point
of myself, I can begin to see beyond my own ideas, and begin to see

clearly. God is real for no other reason that God is real, real in the running
water, real in the touching of live skin, real beyond the way I name

the world. Overcome, not by a vision, but by reality, the mind drops
ideas and love washes away the illusions. And Jesus is present in the living
of life, and in the living water, and in the living word. In the Beginning ...