the wind blows hard,
hard to the east,
and again to the west.
but no one takes notice.
our fathers and grandfathers took notice.
curses in their throats and compasses connected to their hearts,
they followed the wind and listened to the cry of the storm.
“the gods are moving,” said they, at the sound of thunder.

ah, but we have traded the gods in for barometers and weather patterns.
Zeus was slain by Science,
Thor murdered by Information.
no strike of lightning is cast from the hand of a god,
no tempest at sea is ever stirred to wake at the call of a spirit.
the earth is our home, and we are her masters,
or so we deem.

we mock our ancestors for worshiping the wind and the rain,
yet they mock us,
even in the grave,
for worshiping our mind and our data.

O Eternal Science,
Who art ever true,
Blessed is thy name,
And the fruit of thy womb,
Namely: Data, Statistic, and Fact.
Thou art holy,
And above all.
Thou art worthy to receive our worship,
Our honor,
And our love.
Truly, there is none like thee.

Yet answer for this: were thou rebuked and held still by the one they call the Christ?

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