Rain

[Image Description: Rainclouds over farmland]

God is a man, male, maleness,
and therefore, men are more like God.
Women are just a rib,
a support,
a helper
to prop up the weight of patriarchy.

It’s there in pages
and creeds,
who are you to argue?
Ignore evidence that contradicts
so all you see is
a man’s faith,
a man’s world
a man god.

Kneel there and look pretty while we
manufacture scarcity from abundance,
violence from connection,
commodity from gift.

How I long to clear away these accumulated lies
the way one clears tracked-in fragments from the hall rug.

Quick snaps from the wrist,
shaking clean over the back-porch rail,
leaving the dross scattered in the yard
to be washed clean
away by the rain on the horizon.

Because the male god they made wasn’t male at all,
just a distortion of power,
maleness misconstrued.

Wholeness was the gift
and we fractured it,
splitting the beautiful spectrum of human
into two opposites,
one dominant.

Changing all/and
into either/or,
erecting boxes.

One for him.
One for her.
A facade for each

to stifle the complex beauty
that allows us to be
And.
All.
Whole.

The male god distortion
crushes even men,
separating us from each other
and ourselves.

If we sweep away these constructs,
confines,
cons,
we see God is male and not male,
female and not female,
being itself,
not to be constricted by our narrow minds.

Out here in the vast expanse
after the rain
washes away the nonsense,

what we know is how
wide and long and high and deep
is being,
is wholeness,
is love.

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