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My religion.

My religion makes no sense and does not help me therefore I pursue it. When we see how simple it would have been we will thrash ourselves. I had a vision of all the people in the world who are searching for God massed in a room on one side of a partition that looks from the other side (God's side) transparent but we are blind. Our gestures are blind. Our blind gestures continue for some time until finally from somewhere on the other side of the partition there we are looking back at them., it is far too late. We see how brokenly how warily how ill our blind gestures parodied what God really wanted (some simple thing). The thought of it (this simple thing) is like a creature let loose in a room and battering to get out. It batters my soul with its rifle butt.
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Author:Carson, Anne
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Jan 1, 1993
Words:148
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