My Description of the Divine

If God were anything—

I think maybe

They’d be both

masculine and feminine

but also neither

and also all the stuff in between

that language forgot how to hold.

Divine,

but not like golden throne divine—

more like a deep-breath-in-the-dark divine,

like the smell of the universe

before it had stars.

Beautiful,

but not Instagram beautiful.

Beautiful like

rot that feeds roots.

Like grief that grows gardens.

Full of love,

but not the Hallmark kind—

the kind that wrecks you,

overwhelms your lungs

and makes you weep for strangers.

Forgiveness—not cheap.

Not "get out of jail free" forgiveness.

The kind where you see your own hands bloody

and still someone calls you home.

Everlasting kindness,

like a river that just

keeps flowing

whether you curse it or not.

Goodness that isn’t for show.

Goodness because it is.

No hypocrisy,

no sermons with skeletons in their teeth.

Maybe a little utilitarian,

but soft about it—

the greatest good for the greatest number

for the longest stretch of time,

like some invisible ethical tide.

And consequential,

every action

a ripple

a thread

a reckoning.

Maybe science is Its DNA—

spiraling in double helix prayers—

and math Its language,

the dialect of stars,

speaking in fractions and lightning.

You can’t touch It.

You can’t name It.

You can barely describe It

without your mouth

filling with static.

Magick with a "k"

because it’s old

and doesn’t need spelling rules.

It’s not all-good or all-evil.

It chooses.

Every moment,

it chooses.

Goodness, not as default,

but as devotion.

No fallen angels,

no cosmic rebellion plot.

Just transcendence—

above duality,

inside the balance.

Zero

and

Infinity

at once.

A beginning that never ends.

An end that never began.

Indescribable.

Unspeakable.

But still,

you want to try.

Because it feels like

overwhelming love,

like unbearable compassion,

like your chest cracked open

and filled with

every soft thing

you ever had to lose

to become

real.