The Kingdom of God is Within You

I am a hopeless romantic. I find myself wanting to fall in love with every man I meet. I imagine our life together over the next five years, ten, twenty. The places we'll live and the romantic things we'll do and the fights we will endure run through my head in a happy manner. Then I wake up and realize that I don't even really know this person. I chide myself for walking a thin line between a lively imagination and blatant desperation. I'm not desperate.

I've met my first group of religious friends. They are not my first group of religious acquaintances, for I have known many of those. When I was in highschool I knew all the kids in Fellowship of Christian Athletes. They were all good kids. Very nice, usually. Driven, focused, successful, happy. They excuded a strength that came from knowing God was on their side, all the time, a friend to call on. They all seemed to have God's personal phone number. I was sick with envy.

I was not raised religiously. There was not a Bible in our house until I was seventeen and bought one for myself. These days, I am not envious of the happiness of my religious friends, because I have found that I, too, am very religious and through my relationship with God I have become very happy. The only problem is that I am "deviantly" religious, which traditional religious people say doesn't count. God isn't on my side, they tell me-- not daring to tell me I am going to hell because, let's face it, it's hard to tell someone they are going to hell and keep them as a friend. They are sure that if they subscribe entirely to an ancient thought system they will be saved, they will never die.

I've spent a lot of time convincing myself that God is not mad at me for choosing to believe in her a different way. This is the only part I envy--the assured blessing, the propaganda for my views instead of against them. I'm not particularly fond of always being on the outside.

I hope my new friends don't disdain my religious choice, being untraditional as it is. In past experiences, the reception of me and my beliefs is less well recieved than Judaism or Islam. Perhaps I am more threatening because I don't completely subscribe my beliefs to a single book.

It would break the hearts of the Iron River Pentacostals if they read this. My heart breaks with them.


Second-hand Faith

The one-eyed cyclops says
we will believe every word
the white walls quake
and we shake
and stomp our feet
we will believe every word
have no doubt
and celebrate salvation
Cyclops asks us questions
demands our answers
Do we feel the spirit?
our hands reach into the air
grasping desparately for some belief
some relief
our souls are in his hands.
I think he wants to eat us.
I am a wicked, wicked girl
to make such bold suggestions
but I can not bear the taste
of acidic indigestion.
I'll take my soul in
my own hands, TYVM.
This is what I say outside the church
they click tongues at my mistake
while men touch my back and
women hover over me speaking different languages
I am the center
of attention
as the pray and fret over my worthiness
why can't she be saved? Why won't she be saved?
concern
is always powerful
they conjure up spirits like the best
the voodoo dancers and all the rest
we're just inches away from snakes
I want to tell them
after, I hug them all
they promise to keep on prayin'
I hope they know that I ain't changin'
though to tell the truth, I'm not sure
I would last too long
they sing a mighty pretty song.
When sister Julia suffers my burden for me
I'm only mildly afraid and lonely
the only "unbeliever" in the crowd
FYI, I want to scream
my second-hand faith stands up proud
my second-hand faith
my protective shroud.