God Objectified

God Objectified- Kate Starr/Tamara Lebak

You’ll have to use every form of transportation

to get there – a plane, a train, cars and buses,

and something that floats.

The last few hours you’ll spend on foot

following the directions of country people

speaking languages that are difficult to understand

using hand signals

and maps drawn with sticks in dirt –

turn left at a certain cedar that looks like a man,

make a right at the rock formation

of mother and child,

go through the valley, cross over a bridge, go

until you come to the crossroads …

Then, if you are looking carefully,

stairs will appear underfoot

leading you to a door that looks

very much like your own front door,

into a foyer with multiple mirrors

and countless corridors.

Lining every hall are rows and rows

endless rows of card catalogs,

sky-high shelves of dusty books,

stone tablets, papyrus scrolls,

oral traditions preserved on vinyl and cassettes,

8-tracks, CDs, and DVDs.

Down one corridor is a portrait room.

There you will find an ornately framed painting

of each and every person who has ever lived.

Or ever will.

Down another passage you enter an audio library

where the thoughts of every man, woman

and child are audible.

There is a also a video room,

with screen upon screen and holographic

images of unspeakable horrors

and moments of unbridled elation.

People of every sort are here

looking for something:

their origin, their genealogy, a connection,

Hope, Justice, Love.

Occasionally you will see

those who have taken up residence

in the hallways and sitting areas

and have no other home but here.

You might find them sleeping under newspaper

or silk calligraphy banners,

grumbling about the chatter

and having to share the space.

Animals of all kinds lope and slither and fly

throughout the halls around you.

Some creatures require a microscope to see,

others a microfiche to remember.

In one room, children slide down a giant Plexiglas

replica of the human body.

When you glide behind the eyes you catch glimpses

of the infinite and the minute.

Pass through the heart and you experience

the incredible capacity for love and hate.

Slipping through the intestines you intuitively

feel empathy and fear.

Make your way through the birth canal and,

just for an instant,

you truly understand all the paradoxes of life.

And somewhere in the bowels of this modern

steel and glass marvel,

in the turret of this medieval

stone and mortar castle,

somewhere in this igloo, this condo,

this mansion, this hut,

sits the sole proprietor, the archivist,

the docent, the librarian

meticulously, systematically, analytically

and very, very lovingly,

counting the hairs 

on yet another head.