Playing God
© Surazeus
2017 09 24
Atum gazes startled at twelve old women
dressed in long white gowns and gem-studded crowns
who surround his farm house by the cool river
while the young woman in a long red gown
offers him the diamond-tipped Wand of Wisdom
and the Crown of Decision that gleam bright,
as he offers them bread and wine to feast.
"I know you are the Council of Twelve Gods,
and welcome you all to my humble farm.
How strange that someday though we all will die
yet while alive we play fierce games of power
to fight over who will eat food this hour
and who will copulate to reproduce
structure of their bodies in vibrant children
who will grow up and walk across our skulls
to play their own dramas of dominance.
Why must one person always lead each group
that forms to work in communal rapport,
whose vision organizes separate actions
of each loyal individual involved,
and thus can manage projects that will help
the whole group survive all hostile aggression,
thriving as they grow from tribe to world empire?
Transforming from wise judge to fighting king,
that man most clever in quick strategy,
who kills opponents through both strength and wit,
appoints himself god, most dominant male,
who beats his chest like the gorilla in rage
to assert his will as final command
by claiming his vision for better ways
to interact through commercial exchange
will help their group assimilate all others.
Two children spring from the seed of my hope
and here in our small quiet hidden vale
we tend and harvest wheat and grapes for food,
while arrogant men, who proclaim themselves
gods with super powers to manipulate
process of fate, sit on high ziggurats
and play god as if their bodies and minds
could transcend straight physical laws of nature.
No human is more divine than all others
for we are composed from Dust of the Earth,
packed together with Water of the Ocean,
animated by swift Winds of the Sky,
and sparked awake by hot Flames of the Sun.
My father sparked the spirit of my soul
awake in the pulsing egg of my mother
and I emerged from the eternal dream
of flashing atoms to wake in this brain
and know that I am alive in this body,
so I perceive my face looking at me
in the mirror of time that beams new eyes.
Every mortal man who comes to play god
dies and is replaced by more mortal men
in ceaseless flow of men who occupy
position of authority through power
over their group, as if immortal soul
we cannot see possesses each new mind
in turn to animate his flesh with spirit
of divine power, so god always returns
in new body of flesh to rule each tribe.
I refuse to take this gem-studded crown
you offer for me to wear on my head
so I can play god on high ziggurat
because I would get dizzy from its heights,
and I cannot decide cases in court
to enforce strict judgments of life and death.
I have no vision nor experience
to lead our nation toward world domination
so I will stay and work on my small farm,
free and secure on my small patch of land.
I want to live free, tending with my hands
fruit trees and grain stalks we bake into bread,
for I would rather feed our entire nation
rather than attempt to rule them with laws.
Now I must tend the fruit trees of my heart."
Atum turns away from the twelve old women
and walks to the apple tree on the shore
where he plucks the plumpest red fruits of wisdom,
whistling melody that sounds like bird tweets,
and never looks back as the Elohim
go search for another man to play god.
© Surazeus
2017 09 24
Atum gazes startled at twelve old women
dressed in long white gowns and gem-studded crowns
who surround his farm house by the cool river
while the young woman in a long red gown
offers him the diamond-tipped Wand of Wisdom
and the Crown of Decision that gleam bright,
as he offers them bread and wine to feast.
"I know you are the Council of Twelve Gods,
and welcome you all to my humble farm.
How strange that someday though we all will die
yet while alive we play fierce games of power
to fight over who will eat food this hour
and who will copulate to reproduce
structure of their bodies in vibrant children
who will grow up and walk across our skulls
to play their own dramas of dominance.
Why must one person always lead each group
that forms to work in communal rapport,
whose vision organizes separate actions
of each loyal individual involved,
and thus can manage projects that will help
the whole group survive all hostile aggression,
thriving as they grow from tribe to world empire?
Transforming from wise judge to fighting king,
that man most clever in quick strategy,
who kills opponents through both strength and wit,
appoints himself god, most dominant male,
who beats his chest like the gorilla in rage
to assert his will as final command
by claiming his vision for better ways
to interact through commercial exchange
will help their group assimilate all others.
Two children spring from the seed of my hope
and here in our small quiet hidden vale
we tend and harvest wheat and grapes for food,
while arrogant men, who proclaim themselves
gods with super powers to manipulate
process of fate, sit on high ziggurats
and play god as if their bodies and minds
could transcend straight physical laws of nature.
No human is more divine than all others
for we are composed from Dust of the Earth,
packed together with Water of the Ocean,
animated by swift Winds of the Sky,
and sparked awake by hot Flames of the Sun.
My father sparked the spirit of my soul
awake in the pulsing egg of my mother
and I emerged from the eternal dream
of flashing atoms to wake in this brain
and know that I am alive in this body,
so I perceive my face looking at me
in the mirror of time that beams new eyes.
Every mortal man who comes to play god
dies and is replaced by more mortal men
in ceaseless flow of men who occupy
position of authority through power
over their group, as if immortal soul
we cannot see possesses each new mind
in turn to animate his flesh with spirit
of divine power, so god always returns
in new body of flesh to rule each tribe.
I refuse to take this gem-studded crown
you offer for me to wear on my head
so I can play god on high ziggurat
because I would get dizzy from its heights,
and I cannot decide cases in court
to enforce strict judgments of life and death.
I have no vision nor experience
to lead our nation toward world domination
so I will stay and work on my small farm,
free and secure on my small patch of land.
I want to live free, tending with my hands
fruit trees and grain stalks we bake into bread,
for I would rather feed our entire nation
rather than attempt to rule them with laws.
Now I must tend the fruit trees of my heart."
Atum turns away from the twelve old women
and walks to the apple tree on the shore
where he plucks the plumpest red fruits of wisdom,
whistling melody that sounds like bird tweets,
and never looks back as the Elohim
go search for another man to play god.
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