He Who Would Be Called God

A POEM

He who would be called God,

Narcissistic, craving of all attention,

Sat on his La-z-boy pondering plans for self glorification,

For triumph over the ignorant masses.

He who would be called God,

Famous for profundity

For philosophy,

For sayings such as

“Divide and conquer,”

Was feeling bored and lonely.

He who would be called God,

Already dwelling in the minds of all men,

Sent messages to his infinite minions

To unite in isolation,

Become one in separation,

Gather in tribes a-greed in discontent.

“Fill the screen of your consciousness with what is wrong,

With what is lacking.

Reject all that is before you as false and misleading.

Do not fall for satisfaction, for contentment.

Distrust and fear nature.

Call on me for the promise of what’s to come.”

“I am the way and the truth and the light.

I am the ONLY way and only you are given this truth,”

He who would be called god spoke to each isolated mind.

“Those who will inevitably disagree with you,

Those who say that only they have been told that

I am the way and the truth and the light,”

He continued to teach,

“Are wrong and shall be damned and shunned.”

(Go ahead, scratch your head in confusion).

“You and I together, righteous are we.

Only me do you need and no other,”

Spoke he to every man.

Yet he who would be called God

Was still unsatisfied,

Wandering alone in each mind.

Even he desired the companionship of the

Self-righteous,

And he desired the power and the glory of

The battle and the conquest.

Right must win over wrong

Good must destroy evil

How can I feel better than

Without some who feel worse.

So, he who would be called god

Sat at his desk and began to devise a Game Plan,

An exciting Game to engage

All the minds of the men he had already

Filled with himself.

Teams were the way, he concluded,

To make the game exciting, dangerous,

To pit large groups against each other,

To feel companionship and righteousness,

Hatred and separation all at the same time.

He who would be called god

Sat at his desk and wrote the

Manuals that would set the

Rules of the Game,

Establish the teams,

Set the Game in motion.

He chose captains for the teams

Captains who would come and go over time.

He wanted his game to last a very long time.

Great men he chose,

Those whose minds were fully

Absorbed in him,

Those who listened and obeyed Him without doubt,

Those most influenced by suggestion.

In his own mind he could visualize their march through history.

Abraham, John, Paul, Constantine, the Papacy, Luther, St. Augustine,

The inquisitors, Columbus and Ponce de Leon,

Joseph Smith, Jim Jones, David Koresh, Charles Manson,

Rabbis, sheiks and ayatollahs,

Bin Laden and Bush,

Televangelists galore and, throughout time and space,

So many, many more.

He who would be called god

Smiled to himself at his own cleverness.

He wrote on, story after story

Compiling many books.

The Old Testament he wrote for one team

The New Testament for another group, splintered from the first.

The Koran for a third, also descended from the first.

In each book he stressed

The words could never be changed, never challenged

With threat of death and eternal damnation.

That all the players were related,

Yet fighting and killing each other

Slaked in him a special thirst.

He filled these books with his many names

Demanding worship and full devotion.

Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah,

He didn’t care what they called him

Just so they did nothing together

Just so they never figured out that

He was only he who WOULD be called god,

Mental construct filling each mind,

Distracter from Reality.

Proud he was at the game he set.

All was going well.

War and genocide, chaos and fear

The world had gone to hell.

All religious people prayed for the world to end,

Positioning themselves to do what they could to expedite that end.

He walked the lands, he raised his hands

At the sacrificial smell.

The goal he’d set at the start of time

His goal to end this world,

He no longer had to sell.

His captains now were convinced,

Their rightness had no doubt.

Their fingers poised on nuclear buttons

Awaiting final certainty.

He smiled at the thought

Of the revelations he wrought,

His word was followed to the letter,

And then…NO

His game had stopped.

Something was amiss,

His rules were being broken!

Someone was CHANGING the STORY he had so carefully written.

He who would be called god in the mind

Of the arrogant story changer

Shouted and warned, threatened all harm,

Promised gravest danger.

Get real, that conscious mind replied,

Your stories are meant to deceive.

It’s time we did a rewrite

Time for a global reprieve.

Many of us now know you are

Only a mental construct.

The worst of our own ideas.

Your time is up, a lie’s a lie.

You who would be called god,

It’s time to die.


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