To The Ones I Love
by Claribel Santiago

Ever been angry at God?
Oh you know, the kind of anger that lashes out
while pointing an accusatory fist heavenward,
shaking violently as you shout "I don't need you!"
The kind of anger that says to God:
"You're not real!
I don't believe in you!"

Yet quietly, insistently...
deep down,
your soul cries out for an answer...
any answer,
One that could possibly quench that thirst you feel
That void in your life.
You know its there...
We all know its there...
But, no one speaks of it...

Instead you hide it,
You pretend it doesn't exist
You mask it with a smile
confuse it with things,
gloss over it,
belittle it,
reason it,
Then with as much human philosophy as possible
you try to explain it away...

Its a void that for so long
you've tried to fill with
money,
pleasures,
people,
places,
activities,
things,
yet it continues to burn a hole your heart...

Your life,
a life that shouts out in anguish,
searching for meaning and answers
answers to questions that have seared your being
"Who am I? What am I?"
Questions we ask at one time or another
while facing the matter of death
looking at it head on
realizing our life is but a fleeting vapor,
a mere mist,
a year,
a day,
an hour,
a minute,
a second....

Yet, to admit our mortality
would inevitably signify our existence is short
possibly even meaningless,
Admitting life is but a set of numbers,
with a dash in the middle
It taunts us
Looking back at us
in the form of a tombstone
A small tombstone
covering a hole
A hole in the ground that only fits a coffin,
no cars,
no homes,
no clothes,
no money,
just a cold empty grave
with a small cement tablet
not enough room to list our accomplishments
nor capture our being,
who we were,
what we were,
what we did,
It utterly brings defeat...

And the questions arise
what a cruel hoax
what a terrible joke,
the human condition
we merely exist just to die?
These questions haunt
They beg to be answered.
They demand to be answered...but how?

Is there a God?
Does nothing surprise Him?
Do our questions?
Our doubts?
Our cynicism?
We can't possibly believe in Him
But what is the choice?

Is God mocked?
Has He truly created us?
Does a dog struggle with purpose?
Do the birds question their flight?
Does a worm complain of its status in life?
Then why does man search for meaning?

Could it be that perhaps the One who created
and so intricately knows us
had a purpose in planning our plight?

Deep inside your being,
my being,
our being,
He knew,
One day,
we would ask the question..
Who am I?
What am I?
Demanding an answer
Acknowledging a need for purpose,
Admitting our emptiness,
the void,
a space,
a hole,
Yes, a hole...
A "God shaped hole"
and like a piece in a puzzle
it can only be completed with Him.