If this was paradise, I would want out --
over the jasper walls one night
or ducking back through the pearly gates.
If pleasure reigned, every heart's desire
quelled and answered, suffering eased,
death overcome, I would still want to know --
to know -- not the truth but, Who. Who.
I believe, anyway. I feel as much.
If everyone on earth were angels of mercy --
wore wings of kindness, generosity,
I would still be missing a stone,
an aching hole in the wholeness. O Lord,
must my wanderings take me back
all the way, all the way, beyond, beyond?
Beyond, beyond, is that home? That unimaginable,
perfect silence and stillness before the journey began;
before the imaginary bits of Yourself were gathered
and scattered and pressed into service?
Reaching down into myself, I yield, probe and open --
What is the essence of this longing and Who,
o Lord, o Lord -- no names or descriptions --
Who is my Beloved? Who is my Beloved?
O child of God, let the tide of mystery within you
rise and swell then, inexorably, sweep you away.
No comments:
Post a Comment