Women from the well in perfect balance,
water jars spilling not a drop –
so I place my Beloved above my head,
conducting this world’s affairs.
How precarious it seems,
juggling my faith, here and there,
often weighty and absurd – a pain in the neck, really,
but I never think of dumping it.
I’d rather be wrong about my Beloved,
than right about atheism.
Other religions have snapped under me,
their bones diseased to the marrow,
but the burden of my faith
in the Beloved has lifted me –
at times, my whole being
threatening to fly away.
O child of God, you have no choice in the matter.
The Ancient One has knocked upon your door.
(from A Jewel in the Dust)