Believing all this – that this is all there is –
invites indulgence, mischief
pushing up from a sweet but false core.
Having no outer authority nor awaiting reward,
no purpose other than to plow and plod
this earth of delight and sorrows ever
outside the fettered gate, gathering what fruit
we may and wild flowers to adorn our graves.
Believing not in this fabled Illusion
as being God’s game is to invest in human illusion
with all its impotence and futility.
To believe in God’s Illusion
is to have faith in the preeminence
of Something more than all there is.
O child of God, the veils of this realm
flutter loosely among the twisted limbs of faith.