The Goddess

A woman who rides a curled white blob
Appears to me in dreams.
She always looks wobbly,
About to fall off,
But she never does,
Because the laws of physics do not apply in dreams.
Her hair is autumnal red;
The flowers that follow in her wake are amaranth pink.
Her appearance is always a comfort to me
Because I depend on her wisdom.

I ask her all my questions,
And she pants back the answers,
While her silent steed grunts and nods approval.
She is always a little disheveled
And answers too briefly,
As oracles always do.
What is the purpose of life? I ask her:
“To be able to say at the end of the day, ‘This was worthwhile.’”

What happens when we die?
“When you die, I shall no longer appear to you.”
Is the world real?
“You ask this in a dream?”
Is there life on other planets?
“And do you know what life is?”

The Goddess

What is life?
“Life is what happens when you wake up. And also what happens while you are asleep.”
What is free will?
“Some nights I choose to appear to you and some nights I do not.”
What is beauty?
“The sight of someone or something you love.”
What is our duty on earth?
“Solidarity.”
Is there a God?
“Yes, in your dreams, and here I am.”
Then, when it’s time for her to go,
She shoots off like some gigantic eel, without a word of goodbye.

During my days, I ponder her words.
I think I am growing closer to an understanding.
There are many gods in this world:
Money is one,
The self another,
And then there is that whole exhausting kaleidoscope of deities.
My god is a woman who rides a curled white blob.
Her answers to my questions bewilder me,
But at least she answers them.
I am coming to love her.
I like my god the best.