spirituality

No Decompression Limit

I sit hypnotized by the soft hiss and blow
Of my breath as I look past the pressure
Of my mask.

Man-eaters pass:
Larger, drabber, more oppressive
Than on the aerated surface.

Yet, the great column of water above
Places me in the snug warmth
Of a mother's womb.

Reassured in this salty bath
Of aquamarine and the fluttering silver
Of slender eyeless fish
and brown drab eels,
Foraging under great shelves
of cragged coral.

Neutral buoyancy.
Mastering the physics of the deep,
The breath of depth;
The most delicious air
Fills my lungs to saturation.
The seduction of the underworld
Glides in a reality unreal,
Disorienting to this surface-dweller:
An absence of gravity, a magnified
Presence.

Never wanting to come off
I take hit after hit;
The narcosis of this depth
Is frightening, addictive.
Bubbled mercury rises as I blow
Hard into my second stage.
I grip my jaw into the salty
Spongy rubber mouth-piece,
Shutting eyes tight,
Shaking off the numbing
Water.

The glowing face of a gauge
Announces that the end is coming.
I will rise soon, making sure
I can see the mirrored bubbles
Pass my ascent.

As I look up light glimmers through
The great water separating me
From the sky.


©1999 chris abraham

The Church of God

Thought about God, the Pope and
Things and felt quite impressed by
The glamorous robes and the Pieta
Christ in red velvet robes and a
funny hat -- St. Peter must have
been into haute couture.
Since when did Peter get all the glory?
Didn't he miss the point?
I like to picture Jesus as looking
a lot like Michelangelo.
Troubled by his sexuality and
always chipping away at angry
stone until the soft alabaster
of flesh and nose and eyes
became elaborate masturbatory
aids for the Church
Icons of religion like spiritual
pornography -- the curve of
Christ's hip perched uncomfortably
on the cross beams of wood that
held him a story closer to
Heaven.
Mary, clothed in heavy mourning
Robes makes men fantasize and wonder
who the father really was and
what sponginess lies under the
coarse fabric -- God as good
lover or Joseph as cuckold
a sucker for even believing such
a ridiculous tale.

Talking about Vatican II,
a friend told me to wear
Mary around my neck as
her roman nose
(why not Jewish?)
And sultry eyes are the eyes
of vision -- a passport to harps
and cherubim.
My professor in boy's school
(Catholic, no doubt)
said that there is a hierarchy
(pecking order)
to get to Heaven:
Get to know Mary -- she will
help you meet Jesus
Chris, Jesus -- Jesus, Chris
It's a pleasure -- I've heard a
lot about you
(Jesus will cordially pencil you in
for an appointment in the hereafter)
Behind every good man
there is a great woman.
The Goddess -- mother earth
The woman of ancient faiths --
Maybe it is only Her -- maybe she
writes under a nom de plume and
the Jesuits and Marianists know that
it's safer to do the 'ole George Elliot
Swithceroo
Illiteracy renders verse important
Words are never enough and the
Unfolding story lies dormant until
The code is crossed to render meaning


©1993 chris abraham

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