Credo   In unison we say it: I believe — the chant is automatic, we don’t savor the irony, ponder why he gave his life for our sins — and what does that even mean? But no one is here to debate the semantics, the nuances of Greek — no, we’re here to behold the mystery always darting out of reach, in a state beyond words, beyond reason, beyond thought. Belief has always been kindled with fire — incense rising like voices of the choir, bushes burning unconsumed, misbegotten angels caught in Dante’s flaming lake, the light of candles on the altar. So many martyrs, heretics. And I know — in ages past they’d burn me at the stake.     © Michael Fleming Marlboro, Vermont May 2022