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Category: Poetry

Chelan Harkin writes poetry that is mystical and ecstatic in nature. She writes to remind you of your joy, to assist you in reconsidering ways of relating to your life that better serves to open your heart,, to deconstruct anything about God that doesn’t feel close, intimate, authentic, and warm, and to remind your soul to break the surface and take a breath.

Eccentric God

If you think
the Eccentric God who made
the octopus
is gonna judge you
for your sins,
I’m afraid you’ve missed
the mark.

If you think this
Wild God
that spins galaxies
as a pastime
cares to get fussy
about your mistakes
or has ever made anything
that wasn’t born
perfect and luminous,
you might need to repent.

If you can’t yet admit
how lovable
and infinitely worthy
the fullness of your human nature is
and if you think God
wants to do anything
but perpetually pour
an abundance
of love gifts
upon you,
well, my dear, your soul
just might need
to go to confession.

Image credit: Laura Makabresku

"The sea of joy yearns to attain your presence." ~Baha'u'llah

The Worst Thing

The worst thing we ever did
was put God in the sky
out of reach pulling the divinity
from the leaf,
sifting out the holy from our bones,
insisting God isn’t bursting dazzlement
through everything we’ve made
a hard commitment to see as ordinary,
stripping the sacred from everywhere
to put in a cloud man elsewhere,
prying closeness from your heart.

The worst thing we ever did
was take the dance and the song
out of prayer
made it sit up straight
and cross its legs
removed it of rejoicing
wiped clean its hip sway,
its questions,
its ecstatic yowl,
its tears.

The worst thing we ever did is pretend
God isn’t the easiest thing
in this Universe
available to every soul
in every breath.

Chelan Harkin

Image credit: Vlad Gradobyk

"The sea of joy yearns to attain your presence." ~Baha'u'llah

I No Longer Pray

I no longer pray—
now I drink dark chocolate
and let the moon sing to me.

I no longer pray—
I let my ancestors dance
through my hips
at the slightest provocation.

I no longer pray—
I go to the river
and howl my ancient pain
into the current.

I no longer pray—
I ache, I desire,
I say “yes” to my longing.

I no longer pray as I was taught
but as the stars crawl
onto my lap like soft animals at nighttime
and God tucks my hair behind my ears
with the gentle fingers of her wind
and a new intimacy is uncovered in everything,
perhaps it’s that I’m finally learning
how to pray.

— Chelan Harkin

Image courtesy of Ana Novaes, LTG – Artes

(c) Chelan Harkin