I am a servant of the King. He called
me once and still I follow. Like the swiftest
stream life carries us. The western world,
so used to drought, at times has manifest
the inner surge. And this I know and gladly,
when his providence arranged it thus,
my stream combined with others here that madly
coursed towards the sea. But now I must
acknowledge life’s strange destiny. An ancient
vine that shares a common root will sometimes
spread beyond the fence into adjacent
fields. What sends it there? The radiant sun,
the steady rain, the hands that cultivate
are wise, the wildest grafts domesticate.
In time we come to choose. A long maturing,
then the moment when the paths divide.
We hope for clarity. In this, enduring
through the dark night of the soul, deciding
in the pale advance of dawn. The wind
outside is tossing all the trees. I shiver
in my room. I cannot now rescind
decisions made. The current of the river
flows one way. A providence is ruling
in the darkness, calling us to follow
in its paths. He rode upon a mule
into his destiny. He wouldn’t swallow
numbing wine. I watch him in his frailty,
radiating love, despite the nails.
I asked him, what am I to do, and added,
Lord. The answer, written on a wall,
had come before my voice was heard. It’s sad
I didn’t see. What do I do, now all
that was familiar is no more, and times
unchanging change to be another? Am I
not the person that I was? No crime
has been committed. But for this – the dam
has broken. Thoughts that gather through the years
become a force of nature. Pressure builds,
the structure fails. My friends give way to fear.
I find myself forsaken by the guild.
The Lord who entered humbly on a mule,
will not forsake the one they call a fool.
I am not asking to convert you, nor
to underwrite my views. A church can walk
in step with heaven, though diverse its store
of truth. What we believe is more than talk,
it nourishes our bones, and who he is
is manifest in who we are. The doctrine
of the word needs bend before the wisdom
of the Son, he is the key, unlocking
hidden mysteries. My views are not
a cancer slowly spreading. Scholarship
is not the wolf’s disguise. A heart that’s hot –
this is the sickness that we need, the grip
of holy fire. The word borne by the wind,
that is the place where everything begins.
Today I am a prisoner in the dock
because of thoughts. The meditations of
the heart are God’s domain. They are unlocked
in speech – it’s overflow. I am your brother,
searching honestly for truth. Why am
I penalised for following his word –
to seek and find? Desire to understand
is not a crime. So much that we have heard
is held unchallenged. Is it reverence
to fight for this, a structure built in time,
when truth’s eternal? In our experience
who has not had to change? The light would shine
on what we thought was so. I cannot turn
unless I see the bush begin to burn.
I do not dwell at length on this, my thoughts
have seasons, things that flourish in their time.
Creation, how we came to be, reports
of ancient memories, a text designed
to comfort and inspire. These questions stand.
More often other things engage my mind.
Why are our hearts so hard? Where is his hand?
What of the future – we have little time
to act to circumvent our doom? The Gospel –
have we grasped its core? Does beauty shine?
Without it generations may be lost.
How would we act if all our hearts inclined
towards his tenderness? These questions raised –
enough to occupy us many days.
I’m silenced. This I feared. A moon that wanes.
Unwanted prophets – lost before they’re found.
Irrational – the rational by name.
I’m sorrowful to leave this sacred ground,
yet Eden turned into a wilderness.
The tree of life appeared unique – a dozen
grow where waters heal our bitterness.
This evening the moon is high, a frozen
disk of light. Our days are numbered, swiftly
they advance towards another age.
We fade away, as if we don’t exist.
What value then, an attitude of rage?
A prophet’s voice is nourished by the sun,
his words take root whenever they are shunned.
The spring has room for many birds. Today
another one appeared. I recognised
its song. Each is in flower. The singing stays
as long as blossoms. Many darting eyes.
A rich community. The avian.
The vegetation. Spring surprises me.
A multitude. A start. A year begun.
I feel the weightlessness of heavy trees.
The turtledoves. A wing that darts. The is.
The gentleness that is a mystery.
The hours that pass. The sun that is and with
us stays. The tabernacle housing me
in festival antipodean, with sky
its ceiling – wide enough for every why.