Here, in this flesh we carry upon our heads, their
hopes, their dreams..., ambitions of a lifetime coded in on our DNA, fused together with
us before their untimely deaths.
And there they rest..., deathly still, so as not to disturb us,
under great slabs of moss grown granite. And from their tombs come echoes of life’s
languages and laughter, we do not understand.
What culture is this..., Bronze boldness walking slanted with choppy
steps and piercing eyes? And why all this effort?... to forge fierce trails across vast
continents of life, through dense, drenched jungles of protruding veins, caught in the
mind’s eye... to struggle with the clinging to of breath despite the pleads of
thousands, breaking free from wrist worn chains of choking dust cast upon their arid
plans... to stand pompously and claim this small spot , "Mine!" against the
eroding ground of time and ever beating baldness of platitudes.
Bone of my bone! Flesh of my living flesh! Rotting in clay house...,
what have you to say?
How many moments of your precious mornings did you waste, dropping
palm kernels into wooden holes or endlessly thundering about the weather? How many hours
did you slap silly at the air, fleeing from curses cast by a stare?
O passionate hearts, longing for Life giving Spirit, What blood
breathing moments would you now change?
To stop and quietly go..., through a different door. To hear the
call of Heaven upon your deafness, as if God’s own mouth had spoken it,
"COME..., FOLLOW ME!"
And in an instant, drop the plow cultivating your grasping hands, or
at a moment’s notice leave the baking of your leaven bread. And with zealous
wonderment of abandon, take the fire of Heaven’s dawning light..., flaming
forgiveness burning in your eyes, and with one, swift, blazing act of mercy, carry that
bright shining Candle to children... sitting in darkness.
