By candlelight I search my self’s
nooks and crannies for the source of darkness.
How deep is myself? It has no end
so long as I’m looking for it,
upheld in the ever deepening maw
by invisible threads always a bit beyond
the tip of my outstretched sword.
Down through the mountain gap,
I’ve entered now the redemptive ocean
but my walking stick keeps me afloat
and I’m kept on the inside dust-dry
by my impermeable skin.
I’ve tried silence and cessation as well,
huddled with myself in the expectant dark,
at His infinite mercy but it’s no good –
just another phony calculation,
inadequate as every other attempt
to lure the grace that admits no compulsion.
O child of God, that which would deliver you
you have no idea how to do.
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