Silent Retreat

God struck me
So that I rang like a bell
And all my joints ached with fatigue
Yet it was not God who struck
For God was not there

God stirred my dreams
Like some vast prophetic vat
Bubbling thickly against the surface
Yet it was not God who stirred
For God was not there.

God ran His hands through my pain
Till its eddies shimmered drowning rainbows
Till they too were lost
But it was not God's hands
For God was not there

God came to me in the silence
In the stillness between thoughts
And held me within eternity
But it was not God who held me
For God was not there

God stood still on a lonely hill
As the Wellington breeze tore at the weak winter-sun warmth
And watched unmoved as I died
Yet it was not God who watched
For God was there already