This park, empty,
in the pause.
My town, clouds smoking off
tree tops and spires,
blue, distant,
distantly puzzled.
Evening light,
living sea,
new bright leaves.
Oh, God! I ask:
how can You bear
the beauty
and the pain?
Did You know
that there would be so much
for Your heart
to hold?
Can You keep Yourself
from bursting?
Is the ache too much
for You?
It's too much for me.
If I keep looking,
if my eyes and heart
stay open,
there will be too much.
It will be too heavy.
I cannot bear it.
The pressure is so much
pain
and joy.
I tear a small shred
of red bark
for remembrance.
In this pause,
all is silent
still
waiting
shifting
preparing...
My steps hurry
just enough
to reach shelter
during the deep breath
before downpour.
Beaches, solitary,
welcome the slow waves,
and their thirsty sands
drain
the dropping waters.
What will be shown
different
when the rain is done?
1 comment:
you know, I've been thinking lately - He is the consummate artist - living art - more akin to musicians' art than otherwise. He loves creating! it fills Him with such joy - never the same thing twice, never the same person twice. yes, sad when we mess things up, or throw what He has made back in His face, but at the same time, He can take great joy in taking the uglification, touching it, and making something else even more differently beautiful from the pain.
We always seem to try to label it all - most beautiful, most wonderful, most meaningful, second most... least... kind of in the middle... but if He made everything at the top of our rankings, where would variety be? If everything were the same level of beauty, we would never see any of it. Kind of like how, when we spend some time somewhere other than where we grew up - different climate, surroundings, whatever - we finally notice the wonder of both places.
interesting to think: at the very beginning, He saw all that He had made, "and it was GOOD!" not perfect (as in only one possible subtle combination of tone/expression/dynamics/etc equaling perfect, instead of myriads of possibilities each played seamlessly each equaling good, no single one any better - truly better, not simply preference - than the others), not ranked in competition with itself or anything else, just good. The fullness of good in both actuality and possibility... no possibility or actuality of competition... good. Like Him.
~D.
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