God the Great Magician

I heard the name God 

In passing today.

It surfaced singular, 

Up from the background 

In a steady blur of conversation.

"God."

When I heard God, 

I immediately thought of a magician.  

That's what I automatically do:

I envision

A magician standing on a stage.  

Is that strange?

No matter the context—

   Be it at a wedding, 

 A funeral, 

In church

Or on TV...

Or even, as I've said, 

As a single word overheard in a conversation—

When I hear the name God

I see God the Great

There on the stage. 

His suit fits him nicely,

And atop His head,

A black velvet stovetop hat

Blends into his thick, slicked-back hair.

(As is custom, he pulls me from his hat,

But not yet...

Or not today)

He wears a flowing cape, too;

It matches his black shoes,

And his mustache, waxed, 

Points like a tuning fork.

I'm drawn to his dark, dimpled cheeks,

And I swoon in the scent of his cologne.

It smells of 

Honey-tobacco and

Mid-July heat-- 

Late-November burning hickory

And a slight stink of sweat.

This God is antithetical to the masquerader on the 

Sistine Chapel.

And while I don’t tell too many people 

(Because they wouldn’t understand),

Here's the truth:

God, the father, is a 

Byronic hero to me- 

Rebellious and handsome, 

Devilishly clever, and divine.

I’m drawn to 

Him, too.  

Not in a pretend way, either.

He lets me lean into 

His weight. 

If it's theoretically possible that there could be a god,

Then it's theoretically possible that God could be a magician

Who came to this world as

As His abracadabra 

And His only son.

And admittedly,

It is more "trick" than "riddle" for me to say

He is father, husband, and brother to me.

There is no slight of hand.

It is not an illusion,

But rather an allusion

To another era.

He stands on the stage encircled by the glow of lights.

While an audience watches on

In this dinner theater; 

Few are aware.

Most eat their meals and drink their wine

While 

God the 

Great 

performs.

His Lovely Assistant has no other name.  

She stands next to 

Him,

Her ample bosom extending pleasingly.

Her shimmering bathing suit  

Sparkles like stars,

A billion sequined sparkling stars.

She steps carefully into a wooden box

That looks like a coffin on wheels

Already rolled out on the stage.

Once she enters,

She is encased

With her lovely head and feet exposed.

She stares sideways out into the shadows of the audience.

Watch the One become 2!

God the magician pulls out a glimmering, 

Oversized thick-toothed saw.  

He wields it high into the air

And then swings it down with a heavy thud 

Right into the center of the wooden box. 

His lovely assistant winces,

And a vibration fills the room as the saw 

Cuts through the wooden box,

Shredding against the grain.

His lovely assistant screams, 

Though not in fear.

 

God does not stop when she cries out.

He thrusts the blade back and forth

And the box is being torn and shredded.

This is divine division.

She is being cut in two:

He cuts through the wood,

Cuts through the box,

And the sawdust-sprinkles spray

A reddish hue in the stage light mist.

And she howls and screams and coughs up blood.

God continues dividing.

He severs her spine now

And blood,

So much blood

Now on the stage. 

Then, and only then, 

Does the lovely assistant stop her screaming.

For the moment,

 She is lifeless and void.

The two was one

In reverse mitosis. 

He divided the “light from the darkness,” 

And “the waters from the waters”—

Just as 

He divided the “day from the night.”  

And the audience applauded

As 

He tipped 

His hat and bowed.

Division is divine, and so is 

God.

God the Great,

Part magician and part mathematician: 

Equal Houdini and Hardy,

And the next phase begins.