The Heretic Speaks, Silently

(This is a poem I wrote about an experience I had in a creative writing class. Thought some of you might be able to relate. It’s also about names, and the numerous times I’ve been accused of being a devil worshipper.)The Heretic Speaks, SilentlyThe boy in the corner speaks boldly of Jesus Christ,of his solid rock faith in that name.I keep my silence, but I want to tell him:Your Jesus Christ, your solid rockis someone I left behind long ago.That name doesn’t speak to me anymore.Once I was like you, serene, securein the knowledge of names.I don’t mean to seem over-worldly,but the world has overrun meand I’ve grown weary of the old names,the names of the fathers.And while I respect the teachingsof the man called Jesus Christ,I no longer call him god.And in many ways I envy your certainty,which is something I have lost.But while I mourn the lossof the innocence and faithI once called home,I continue to search for new namesto define that which we all seek;I think about names, and what they mean.I think of the names we call uponwhen others call us names we don’t claim,about the names we choose for ourselves and each other.And if instead of Jesus Christ,whom you know, I suddenly began to speakand to call upon the Great Goddess,if I named Her Inanna, Astarte, Aradia, Hecate,Athena, Artemis, Aphrodite, Gaia,or a thousand other names–if I named Her Eris the chaos of nature,or Kali Ma the black–(and there are blacker names than thatI could name…)would you then call me devil-worshipperand wave your old testament shoutingabout barbarian idols stamped out centuries ago?I protest, I am no Satanist;although I may be heretic I still have morals.I don’t believe in sacrifice.I believe in karma and the Rule of Three.In truth, I am afraid.Not so long ago we were burned at the stake.I realize now that I should speak from strengthinstead of from fear.But there is that uncertainty again.Perhaps it is because I need to learn humilitythat I have consciously chosen this path,to learn to face my own evil and to own it, to walk in both light and shadow.Perhaps I need to unlearn snobbery,and that’s why I’ve been sent here,like the princess turned into a goose-girlwho talks to her dead horse’s headnailed up on the gate.I wanted to saythat names don’t matter,that underneath we are the same.But the thing is though we seek the same ideal,a purpose and a pattern beyond ourselves,the names I choose to call downare more than just names for the same thing.I believe in following a different path.I believe in the beauty of trees and stars,of spider webs and moonlit fog.I believe that everything is alive,that everything is sacred that strives toward the light.I believe that there is a force for a wholeness in the world.I believe in the wisdom of dumb animals.But I think of the names we use, you and I,and I imagine the worst.So here I am sitting next to you,the devil you don’t know,the unwashed and unsaved lost soul,anathema, blasphemer, heathen, pagan,with a pale face to hide the black underneath;follower of the Old Religion,so-called devil-worshipper,student of the occult and the arcane,playing the heretic because I figure that’s my job.Striving like you to find a rock to call home.

Published
Categorized as poetic

By Annachie

Diamanda Galas is Goddess