Evening, Day 13
05/05/19 10:34
There is a prayer not for uttering;
Surely our sighing confirms it.
A prayer not for answering;
Surely reality tells us so.
"Blessèd are those who mourn."
Does God find us a parking space?
(For which we lightly thank)
When, despite faithful heart
Crying until the bronze dawn day,
Limp still the tiny Image.
Such prayer is not for prodding;
Nor imploring;
Nor reminding.
Quite beyond answers.
It is the cry of abandonment,
Deep crying unto Deep,
Silence speaks to Silence.
Whose consummation is never here,
Never now.
Yet, eccentrically,
Is not lonely.
Flesh falls silent,
Want gives way to wonder.
In this liminal dimension
Solitude becomes the thin place of the heart.
And, Orpheus like, we emerge
The same but different;
Changed by the journey.
Holy Week and a bit 2017
Surely our sighing confirms it.
A prayer not for answering;
Surely reality tells us so.
"Blessèd are those who mourn."
Does God find us a parking space?
(For which we lightly thank)
When, despite faithful heart
Crying until the bronze dawn day,
Limp still the tiny Image.
Such prayer is not for prodding;
Nor imploring;
Nor reminding.
Quite beyond answers.
It is the cry of abandonment,
Deep crying unto Deep,
Silence speaks to Silence.
Whose consummation is never here,
Never now.
Yet, eccentrically,
Is not lonely.
Flesh falls silent,
Want gives way to wonder.
In this liminal dimension
Solitude becomes the thin place of the heart.
And, Orpheus like, we emerge
The same but different;
Changed by the journey.
Holy Week and a bit 2017