9/40 Lent
What dyou do when
your words fall like playing blocks?
They stack in the walls of your heart
and fall out your ears, tiny dangle eardrops in
morning dew?
I came here to pray and You are here but You're not like I thought You'd be - not tense about grammar. You're the Face of a Song, the Breath of an Eternal Vow in my core, a desert too, ripe with bully cacti, sand crab,
-;my thoughts are meer- cats!? But I came here to pray and my words stash trip like praying blocks. You startle me with laughter ..You're a Streamwind sparkling in new pages of trees, and each verse a lyric syllabled with Peace.
If this is a Prayer, I don't want to stop. Just that it doesn't fit in my Lenten Pews. You are God and I am a little human, my words best be few. Yet here I am, here we are : a Cosmos apart, together. 'Holding hands in a tripping Stillness' - is Praying to You
.
🌿
I'm piecing, unblocking myself - in the garden of Geth, ( for Reflective Proeme )... in a Holy Land, I've never seen seen. If that's not the toughest thing, tell me what is. But talking to Him... arrives Unselfconscious. Then it touches , provokes my "deep" inside where human souls live and breathe for real... not as hybrid adults but as little pebbles, weathered by the Streams of God.
Leave a comment