The Initiate

We do you stress and scurry
To a house of worship
To meet with God?

He is not there
but rather found
in the quiet field
Or urban patio
Or behind the closed door
Of your bathroom
Or closet.

As we rush to meet up with God
At some particular point on a map
Don't you realize
He is already there
In the place that you are rushing from?

Don't you realize
That God is found
More in the hand of the small child
You drag behind you in your haste to be on time
Than within those empty walls of vanity
Into which you place this innocent
To be taught that 'he is here'
While 'God is there'
And through a recipe of
Fear and guilt
Read from the cracking pages
Of your ancestors
You ply him until he yields to your ritual
And is grieved of a crime
He did not commit.

Then you call him 'Saved'
Yet exactly at this point
Is he ruined
And must go through many trials
And misery
Forcing his dissatisfaction
And confusion.

You necessitate
That he is pressed like a grape
Until his soul begs for mercy and he asks
"Why? How could this be?"

Then God will tap him on his shoulder
And say,
"Pssssstt.........I'm over here."