Go Tell It On The Mountain

Here, Heaven

(maybe)
this is Heaven

the pyramid's ascent
climbs only toward
the matter/anti-matter of space
but what matters most is
both Giza and Golgotha have suffered the same winds,
been kissed by the same Judas sands betraying time,
covering the pilgrimage of footprints
wandering deserts of their own devices,
stopping only to dig for gold/diamond/oil
(two grains slip back into the hole for every one removed)
in a relentless pursuit of riches already surrounding us
here in Eden

Alexander
Genghis Khan
Ramses
Caesar
Napoleon
Tojo
all tried to build an empire for the ages
(Novus Ordo Seclorum)
but fashioned only
castles made of sand
set upon foundations of
power profit pleasure
as uncertain as the base
of Maslow's pyramid
of self-actualization

so,
climb

out of the depths
hand to rung
to rusted iron ladder
tenuous across a precipice
reach, stretch, lunge
but climb, climb
inside yourself, within yourself
toward knowledge, truth, spirit, calm
and know the God you are
from, with, of

until you summit the flat-top rock
above the vastness of the sea,
and see that Heaven is not o'er your head
but 'neath your feet

Alexander is dust
Genghis, dust
Ramses, dust
and on and on and on

GodMan, GodMen,
KingMan and All the King's Men
riding horses of the Apocalypse

gone

same as the squatter
same as the serf
same as the drunkard
same as the druid

but you
here,
now
upon a cloud
above this Garden
can sit in the stillness of
now,
here in the presence of the Lord

and there is no need to stick your fingers
into the scabbard scarred side
to know that

(maybe)
here, now
is Heaven

and there is no need to look to the sky
hands folded, searching for a sign
a single shooting star
across a black, vast scientific epoch

look instead
into the moving mirror puddled, pooled
at your feet
to see the face of God
and realize

(maybe)
probable Jesus works at a Mobil Mart
possible Mohammad squeegees a car window
potential Buddha shoplifts a microwavable burrito

and that
(maybe)
this is Heaven:

the bobcat crossing an open field
the dead fox in the clutch of hawk talons
the starfish setting upon coral
the tigerlillies wild along the roadside
the smell of mint amidst the grass
the rainwater off a roofline
the swallow's twist and turn above a lake
the beech leaves lantern rattle in the wind

the music of laughter
the poetry of a smile
the sculpture of a mountain still standing

here, Heaven

just maybe