A Last Poem for the Sabbath


There's one last poem from Carol Lynn Pearson's collection Finding Mother God that I thought I would offer you. The rest of the poems you will have to read for yourself in her book!

The Case of the Disappearance of God the Mother

My friend Monica, so beautiful, so smart
so hungry for her Mother

was viscerally fearful that her own eternal journey
would leave her disappeared
just like her Mother

and I have seen tears in her eyes.

If the disappearance of the mother happened
in my house or the house of my friend
I would call the police
I would shoult that something
criminal had happened.

But the disappearance of the Mother of us all
from the House in Heaven seems to have occurred
without much excitement, much notice even
and so very, very long ago.

It looked to be a cold case indeed
and when finally we petitioned the authorities
the officers at the station were
very reluctant to stir things up.

However, Monica and I, both smart and hungry women
knew there was something fishy going on
and we went over their heads

and we learned some things from documents
hidden in dark places and we also spoke to
some higher-ups, the very highest-ups.

And the first thing we must tell you is this:

She was never gone.

That half of God can disappear is beyond absurd
as is the notion of separation in the House of God
for God is Love and Love is indivisible.

And the second thing we must tell you is this:

We found Her.

We called out and She answered.
She was at home and receiving.

Her disappearance was a sham
a story developed by men throughout history
men who coveted because you know
if God is male the male is god.

She never left He place in heaven
or Her place on earth.
Only Her name was stolen.

She defies dimensions and will be where She will be
and the truth that the Kingdom of God is within
is the clue that Monica and I followed as we searched
and it was there that She answered.

She is within and She fills us heart and mind.

She fills the galaxies, the stars and the spaced as does He.
She fills the chapels and temples as does He
and the mosques and the synagogues
and the huts and the homes.

She adores the sound of the organ and the choir
and the bells and the chanting and the humming
and the clapping and the praying.

She is present but not accounted for
and the only crime committed was not
a crime against Her but a crime

against humanity Her family, a crime
committed by humanity Her family.

Her name was stolen
but what's in a name?

We could eat bread if it had no name
but it would be harder to ask for.

And how lovely it is to know that
my daily bread bears Her aroma
and to know that all my blessings flow
through Her hands as well as His.

Let us welcome Her with words.
She has missed the sound of her children's voices.
Let us grasp Her and never let go.

The men will suddently understand
that the ache was for Her, the emptiness they felt
was for Her and they never knew
and therefore the tears.

It is our privilege to tell them.

And it is our obligation to write the story.

Let us call her Mother, Goddess, First Woman
Eternal Comforter.

Our shouts will be joyful and our songs will celebrate
that the Queen of Heaven also is Queen of Earth

And the family is whole once more.


Thoughts: "She has missed the sound of her children's voices . . . " Yes, that rings true. Surely She must miss that. "She was never gone . . . We called out and She answered. She was at home and receiving." Yes, that is also true. I know it for myself. "The family is whole once more." Yes, that is the way it should be. Yes, yes, yes. A big thank you to the poetess for saying things we thought but could not articulate!