A wayfarer in the wilderness dying of thirst
stumbling upon a cave where monks once lived.
His great hope dashed – finding it deserted,
dust-laden, with empty jugs, parched manuscripts,
rough-sketched maps of doomed, abandoned wells.
My Lord said He has come not to teach
but . . . to satisfy our thirst. Promising
the wayfarer shall by appointment meet
someone somewhere who will give him –
in precious, strategic sips – life-giving water,
guide him gently to a higher realm
of deep, icy pools where his thirst
will be satisfied entirely, then forgotten,
becoming ultimately inconceivable.
O child of God, the only value of your imagination
is its aid to the remembrance of your Beloved.