SIP BY SIP, REALIZATION DAWNS

The man scoffed derisively.

Every time I bowed before an idol.
Or crossed myself.
Looked up at the sky.
Rang a bell.
Offered some flowers.
Lit a candle.
Knelt in supplication.
Read from a book.
Listened patiently and interestedly to verses
I couldn’t understand a word of,
in a language alien to me.

He mocked me.

When I ignored the do’s, revelled in the irreverent.
Broke a few taboos.
Lusted. Cursed. Ate the forbidden. Drank the forbidden.
Knowingly and guiltlessly.
Questioned. Dismissed. Argued endlessly.
Sought alternatives. Rejected them all.
And continued with doing what I always did.

“How weak is your faith that you flutter from flower to flower,
blasphemy to belief, sacrilege to spiritualism,
dipping, sipping, never settling, flitting on?”

I answered.
“So strong is it that I know all these flowers in this heavenly garden are His
and I can partake the nectar from them all, knowing He’ll make each sip
taste of pure honey.”