Pain is another way of knowing you're alive.
In our society it's so easy to go about the day
Completely unaware of our Creator
(Or Creatrix, as the case may be).
There are no soaring temples that call to us,
No dusty deserts to call us into seclusion.
Yet aren't the streets of the city just as bare
And arid as a desert, if we allow them to be?
What if we take our affluence,
Our horns of plenty,
And give them up for a little while?
After all, pain is another way of knowing you're alive,
And giving something up is another way of
Reminding ourselves that the Divine Essence
Lives on in all of us.
The smoking fat and bones are no longer
The correct sacrifice for our gods.
Instead, let us offer up the fatted calf
Of our over-indulgent lives
To the god of our understanding.
Give up sitting in front of the tv,
Or chocolate, or soda,
Or give up procrastination,
And when the sting of sacrifice touches us,
Pricks at our sybaritic souls,
Perhaps it will be the catalyst
To help our straining hands reach God.