Sunday, January 18, 2015

A Radiant Dispersion

The Lord and I have a long talk about it in the forest. Birch trees open their silver limbs; starving deer poise themselves for escape. You are always sending me the ones who think I know the way to you, I tell him. You are always asking me to build cathedrals when we both know a clearing in which to kneel is sufficient. He doesn't answer, being more interested in the chickadees who are close enough to touch. After a while I stop complaining and rest in God the way He taught. I was placed in this choir for a reason. Not to sing my heart out for a woman but to praise the absence of secrets, to extend the absence of mystery. He points to an icicle no larger than a tear, the light passing through it a radiant dispersion. How gentle He is and how generous! How happy I am to have been given the words to the wordless song created long ago. When I open my mouth, His directionless extravagance sails into the sky like a moon. She moves away in the light she can finally see. I sing only the quiet, the subtle refulgence, the center we all of us share.

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