Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Ecstasy in an open field

After a week’s wandering in the woods, I break into the open.
The white unfiltered light reveals hard work, dirty hands,
my wretched exhaustion rent raw.
I have nothing to offer but the knots of my shoulders,
stooped back pressed down into the earth,
weary eyes blinking against the violence of pure sky and cloud.
The meadow is covered in golden dandelions,
and each puff of white seed bears in it
lightning, earthquake, and fire.
The field hums my heart-song.
The hammock bands of grass
wrap around my veins and pulse them
like a thousand microscopic defibrillator paddles.
I am jolted into life.
If I lay here long I would be consumed,
my veins aflame, my face aglow,
too long clothed in ecstasy.
Perhaps Moses covered his face
because after forty days before I AM
he could not bear the starkness of the earth,
the dust of the desert, the taste of quail and manna.
Peter, faced with a lightning Christ, wanted to build houses,
to mark and remember that Elijah had appeared again.
But Jesus led them back down the mountain.
Glory is not meant for glory alone.
We were not made to lie face-up, engulfed,
nor terrified and prostrate.
Better rather to rise
and feed a world hungry
for more than bread.

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