Ode to the God in the Fig Tree

Today I paid homage to the Fig Tree

birthed in manured earth -

spreading its pregnant crotches

(yes, covered in green),

so unaquestioned, unashamed, and alive

in this bubbling, galactic, eon-fed pond of Life -

Enmeshed, in the cradle of Consciousness-Itself.

Often have I embraced in thanks, and felt deeply,

against my chest and cheek –

the rough sensual bark

of the forests’ children,

as quiet their Life filled girth,

slumbering in the Unity of Life -

Stretched to kiss the sky orb’s warming rays of Ra.

Yet today, the Fibre of Consciousness in this Fig Tree

wending full Eternal now -

Creation in a majesty of Joy

whether be it my Gratitude eye,

or in hidden sap's silent gift of

sweet, budded, purple, nectar fruit -

Has become a goddess's song of The Deepest’s, giving-Thanks!

Let your pagan god have you as clay,

while clothed, unshaven, be there as ’he’ –

with unbloodied hands, ripping woman

from rib of fully fashioned man

executing, willfully, children, trilobites and flies

between deft brush stroke's painted pedigreed pigments

On a phylum’s preordained boxes of butterflys' wings –

While I –

I’ll see Her

in born-again Thanks

knowing Eternity’s evolving -

In the Livingness of the ripe Fig Tree!

(10 July '04)

Dedicated to ‘Willrod the Lost’ and creationists at large.