It gives me satisfaction to write agnostic
On forms that ask for my religion.
I no longer utter canned prayers,
Go to the church,
Nor have I gone to confession
Since my first communion.
However, I still find myself
Tracing cross figures
On the palm of my hand
Each time I need
Things to be okay,
Either for me
Or for someone else.
On the eve of my latest affliction,
I tried to pray.
Searching for the god
They said answered the earnest of prayers.
I ended up calling to my non-self.
A concept I can rely on
Able to do things
I cannot—the impossible.
And for the moment,
I am comforted.
And may be that is all I need.
Someone like my shadow
Or a doppelganger.
I have no need for the metaphysical
That is out of reach.
Just the spiritual
Within myself.
My god is my non-self.
My sacred other.
Unbounded by structures
Man's conquest of man.
I think I have found my religion.
And it's nestled here in my heart
With skipping beats
And the small solid nodules
Within my chest.
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