God-Phone

I can’t always make sense of the voices in my head–

whispering, commanding, shouting, crying,

and all of them always overlapping.

They all always want something,

a voice to tell the world their stories,

their needs,

their anger,

and I’m happy to be that voice.

There’s nothing for me in their need,

but I don’t need there to be:

I’m not in it for gain or glory,

and even writing that down smacks of hubris, to me–

that I could dare to say

I let the gods speak through me.

What arrogance, to claim to speak for the divine,

though it is less pride and more

that I see myself only as a tool:

a megaphone, a mouthpiece, an intercom,

no more than that, and easy enough to replace

if I break down, misbehave,

or taint anything they say

with my own bias or words.

I do not speak for the gods;

rather, they allow me to serve them–

even more, they use me like

I might use a hammer to drive a nail

to hang a picture on the wall,

and I am content to be of use,

though it is often

confusing, distracting, worrying, fearful,

and sometimes even painful.

But I would not give it up for anything,

though sometimes I think it will drive me mad;

I know how blessed and privileged I am,

to be able to hear their voices

–and with such clarity–

when so many others can hear none of them,

and if I am sometimes overwhelmed,

it is a small price to pay

to know they exist, to be of use to them,

and to know that what I do

reaches others

and makes Them happy.

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