It is all pushing. Time and space and brushing the dust of Eden off my feet. Where is this boat heading? I want to be lost in the timeless creation of creation, like the white levakas painted in layers on my board. A symbol of light, beginning, and that which simply is. Where is that mystical flow that can sweep one up and into shape? What is this my shape? How am I to enter in? And I do know. That prayer is carrying me along....Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Mercy.
Grace.
And joy.
So much dust these days to shake off. To reflect outwards that inner light, and not to let it stay cloaked. More light, more hunger, more thirst.
This time is a bit like temptation in the desert. We walk bearing the assumption of lost, we are indeed nothing, and there are shadows of the Other stalking. But I see the shadows, I feel my way, I bear the Light, and I know this too shall pass.
If only I could know for certain this was all for refinement. Certainty is too scientific, too full of itself. I will learn to be content. I will learn to yearn without restraint--to pool myself and be as a drink of water. Filled and giving. Moistening the tongue parched from the desert dust.
Show me the tree. I know the bird can find refuge there.
Quiet, still, true.
o let me fly.
an apparition of light breaks on wing
washing skies that slowly
diffuse
and lift my feet,
this clayborne heart,
and scatter fields
of unyolked promises
for a mile of mercy
stripped
and sweated
sweet
and full.
I'm sorry I am spiraling a bit. My head is needing to rest. I need to paint. My tree seems appropriate to share. It is where I want to be. It is where I am.
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