If you listen closely, in
dark star flecked night, in
stillness that only the slowing down of day
past bedtime almost to dawn can bring.
If you listen, there
the wisp of wisdom resides
without borders of brazen light to illuminate,
fill with words, confuse with noise,
clutter with icons.
A gentle voice, strong enough to bear
your sorrow, hold you near.
A lydian stone that calls your name
amidst the storm, hears your cry
in deep running waters,
waits the turn
through teeming torrents.
pulling you into the wormhole,
the passageway between night and day.
I am taking a class on the New Testament. We are studying the Gospel of John. This is not one of my favorite gospels at the moment. Maybe it rings too much of Roman rules and creeds and regulations. At least right now that is how I see it.
Our Padre sent some readings to ponder as we delve into this gospel. My soul chose the selection from Wisdom.
9 With you is wisdom, she who knows your works
and was present when you made the world;
she understands what is pleasing in your sight
and what is right according to your commandments.
10 Send her forth from the holy heavens,
and from the throne of your glory send her,
that she may labor at my side,
and that I may learn what is pleasing to you.
11 For she knows and understands all things,
and she will guide me wisely in my actions
and guard me with her glory.
12 Then my works will be acceptable,
and I shall judge your people justly,
and shall be worthy of the throne[a] of my father.
Maybe I will hear.