The pantheist

perceives something
alive
in-dwelling
everywhere
in everything—
in each atom and ion,
in the earth and stars,
in a cholera microbe,
a worm’s casting,
in dinosaurs and pachyderms,
hummingbirds and dogs,
in a murderer and Mozart:
in all: something—immanent.

The universe is a creation of its own design;
not by The Master on a high stool, drafting
laws and prohibitions, calculated in degrees
of misery and sin; but from the inside, growing
out of itself, it’s true nature
manifest in all
it’s variety,
infinite;
its appetite omnivorous,
its daring absolute,
its satisfaction immense
immeasurable
inescapable
known only as unknowable

everything there is
this something is.

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