you may see a
stranger, you may
see a stranger across
a crowded room . . .
and o how many and
often a crowd of strangers
comes between that
beautiful One and myself!
Taps on the
shoulder, the commandeering of elbows,
various pitches;
elaborate dances and wild melees
all the while my
trying to keep a steady eye
on the stranger
moving silently through the room.
Moving pure and
graceful through the room,
parting the crowd
effortlessly with each step.
Seeming to come
nearer . . . ever nearer.
An irresistible
urge to touch His garment;
an effort to tear
myself away from the others;
to push through,
move beyond;
fly to Him, fly to
that preternatural,
healing figure of
enchantment.
O child of God, how
many and often a crowd
comes between you
and your true Self.
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