GodWrestling

just wanted to post a poem that means a lot to me. here it goes:

I wrestled again with my brother last week,
First time since I was twelve and Grandma stopped us:
"She won't even let us fight!" we yelled, embracing,
But she said talking was nicer.
Wrestling feels a lot like making love.

Why did Jacob wrestle with God, why did the others talk?
God surely enjoyed that all-night fling with Jacob:
Told him he'd won,
Renamed him and us the Godwrestler,
Even left him a limp to be sure he'd remember it all.
But ever since, we've talked.
Did something peculiar happen that night?
Did somebody say next day we shouldn't wrestle? Who?

We should wrestle agian with our Comrade sometime soon.
Wrestling feels a lot like making love.

But Esau struggled to his feet from his own Wrestle,
And gasped across the river to his brother:
It also
Feels
A lot
Like
Making
War.

-- Arthur I. Waskow, Godwrestling, pp. 1-2.