9/40 Lent
What dyou do when
your words go like playing blocks?
They stack in the walls of your heart
and come 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, so much a desert too, also 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 Stream, a wind sparkling in new 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
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I'm piecing, unblocking myself together - in the garden of Geth, ( for a tiny Book)... 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.
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