It’s hard to know what to do when your heart is split in two
When you have your own complicated relationship with God
Though, less with God…and more with the image of God
The one created and cultivated by me
But also, by the very people who warn not to create an image
Piece by piece, class by class, sermon by sermon
The gold stacked higher and higher
An image of glittering perfection
So separate, solemn, unchanging, firm
Shiny enough to admire my own reflection
In it’s sheltering, familiar form
It wasn’t until I became brave enough
Or maybe more desperation than courage
To climb the mountain before me
Wind blowing me backward
the foundations of the earth shaking
Fire threatening to consume all
But then.
A still small voice.
There was nowhere to go but down
Step by step down the rocky slope
Slowly approaching the shining figure
This great relic of fantasied omnipotence
Cracking, splintering, crumbling before my eyes
And there were choices to make.
To run for a welder, to scrape for some cement,
But if IT wasn’t in the fire, the wind, the earthquake
IT sure as hell wasn’t contained in this statue
No matter how much it grieved me to acknowledge
So I watched it disintegrate
Sometimes with the aid of reckless repressed rage
Other times with the precision of a surgeon
Guided by education and internalized muscle memory
And yet other times it was simply gravity
Following the old, unflinching laws
What sped the process most
Was the ever constant rumbling of building all around
As humans who I know as kind and loving
Keep piling their own gold higher and higher
Panicking as cognitive dissonance dulls an old surface
But choosing to buff it out instead of accept the reality
That their image isn’t so shiny, the reflection not what they thought
And in some ways I understand
Because to lose something so solid
You could see it, could touch it, could feel it
It is a terrible loss.
Even more, how does one know themself
Or know that they know themself
If they don’t have a mirror
But maybe the reason Moses
Or perhaps it was God
Demanded the people grind up the golden calf
And drink
Is because meaningful interaction with the Divine is Alive
It requires a body
It sure seems like this is a theme of this Story
Not to mention…where are we getting this Gold?
It seems like Exodus would indicate it was stolen
From everyday people
Created in the image of God
To create an image of god
That would sooth the anxiety,
Or mend the dissonance of men in power.
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