Day 46. Ascending to Imbolc. Bottom up deities. A poem

I don’t need a top down deity. 
There’s no comfort for me in being told
That I’m a loving creation of a benevolent mind
Or that the world was built
For the likes of us.

The messy wildness
Of life
The pain and the inequality and the accidents
The beauty and the weirdness
These things make far more sense to me as chaos and chance.

I think we were the ones who sculpted the deities we needed
Taking collective life-giving clay
And glazing it with our own tears
Creating translucent figures
To stand beside us in the tangles.

Queen of the dead
Lord of war
Mx trickster  
God of storms
Goddess of love
Mother Earth.

Immortal ones 
Cast from the mud to which we return 
Containing the bones of our ancestors 
And the blood of our children 
And waiting to take us back again.

Bottom up deities
Wrought from the mess
To rule over the themes that trouble us 
Making more-than-human people to lean on
To pray to 
To hold us 
To help us cope with the ever changing strangeness of being alive
And dying 
Over and over and over again.
Bottom up deities a poem by Sam Goodlet