Hidden Within

I.
I can not turn back
ward, to where I
we
were

I can not pass through the time after his passing,
rising, up, to prepare the way.
I can pass through the time of his silence,
as he bled down and on them.
I can not pass through the time of Love.
Through the time of his words.
And his magics.

From there
I could not pass the assembled shepards,
the frantic flight
The fuffilled promise.

I could not pass through that time Before
when it seemed He was gone.
Or the time of the fire in the desert.
Or the time of enslavement.
Or the fall and rise of our people among the strangers
in those strange lands.

I could not watch its pitchy timbers be reclaimed by the land.
I could not move further back.
Because at the end of that road.
Stands a warrior Angel.
And they are all warriors, the Angels.
With his flaming sword
built to cleave, and purify, and block all those who might wish

to turn backwards the clock.
To undo what has been done.
To escape the punishment inflicted on we sons and daughters.

It was not him but us, all along.
And the angel at the head of the path.

He will slice me opened.
And my innards will dampen my dry feet.
And the way they uncoil will be an oracle.
Speaking this truth:
There is no going home again,
Down the path we already tread.

II
There is the promise.
Of a return
to what we were meant to be.
It will not be founded by retracing our path.

III.
And so here we are
In this inbetween place.
This limbo place.
This dark life.
With it’s cruel glimmers of hope.

The glimmers of hope.
Are the cruelest.
Of all.

We are built to see their truth.
We are to blind to see how far away that truth is.

Our greatness is not a thing recaptured.
Our majesty will not be found in the returning.
What we are meant to be.
What we are made to be.
Wont be fond in our memories.
Our fathers memories. Our mothers.
And all the mothers. All the fathers.
That came before them.

He breathed into the dirt.
Breathed Life.
Breather Glory.
Breathed Image.

That is so long ago.
We have reached back into the filth.
Unliving filth.
With no breath, no glory.
We have smeared it upon ourselves.
We have covered that Great Light.

It is a hidden thing, now.

I can almost understand why you snuff it out.
I can almost see why you cut, and cut, and cut.
But you won’t find it there. Anymore than the astronauts ever found heaven.
And the diggers ever found hell.

I drift like you,
sometimes it is easier.
To deny the glory of our destiny.
We can say that it was self-delusion.
Wishful thinking.
Evolutionarily built in.

but
it is within.
It is within.

Now, all I know.
Is to grasp,
gamble, seek. Seek, and long.
For some truth imprinted upon the very deepest of me.

Cast adrift on endless oceans within.
Stumble and fall, spelunking the caverns of who I am.

Perhaps I will find it.
In the cadence and song of words assembled, just so.
Perhaps it will not be in the meaning but the melody.
Rhyme, and repition, assonance and alliteration.

Or perhaps denotations will conspire.
And suddently there will be this soaring.
As the meanings, constructed truimphant.
Soar! And they carry my very self with them.

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Published by

jeffsdeepthoughts

The stories that speak to our soul begin at a home where things are good. Cinderella is happy with her father. The three little pigs have grown up and are ready to move on. Bilbo Baggins knows his shire. Adam and Eve walk with God in the garden. My story isn’t much different. There was a time and a place where it was so good. There was a community for me. And there was joy. We were filled with a sincere desire to do what God wanted us to do. We possessed explanations and understandings that went a certain distance. We offered security and tradition and laughter. For a lot of years, that was enough. I have this sense that it was also necessary. I have this surety, now, that it certainly wasn’t everything. There were some things that became increasingly problematic as time went by. There was a desire to package things up so very neatly. Sunday morning services were efficient and strategic. Responses to differences of opinion were premeditated. Formula began to feel more important than being real. A real desire for everybody to be one of us, but also a real sense that there is an us, and there is a them. They carried a regret that it has to be this way, but deeper than this regret was a surety that this is how it is. I began to recognize that there was a cost of admission to that group. There were people who sat at the door, collecting it. Those people wished they didn’t have to. But I guess they felt like they did have to. They let some people in, and they left others out. There was a provisional membership. My friends did possess a desire to accommodate people that are different… But it would be best for everyone concerned if they were only a little bit different. I did make many steps forward in this place. Before I went there, there were lies that I believed. Some of the things that I learned there, I still hold on to. But that place is not my home anymore. Those people are not my community anymore. There were times it was hard. I am engaged in a different community now. And I am working hard at finding a place in many different places now, embracing many different kind of families. I don’t always get it right. I am trying and I am learning and I am moving foreward. I have this sense that I am not alone in these experiences. I believe that we are tribe and we are growing. We are pilgrims, looking for a new holy land. Perhaps we won’t settle on the same spot of land. But if you’ve read this far, I am thinking that we are probably headed in the same general direction. I have begun this blog to talk about where my journey is taking me. In every space, we find people who help us along. And maybe we can get to know each other, here. We embrace ideas that provide a structure for the things we believe, and perhaps we can share these too. Maybe we can form a group, a tribe, a community, if we can figure out a way to work through the shadow of these kinds of groups, if we can bigger than the us-and-them ideas that have caused so much trouble in the past. As important as they are, I think the very nature of online interactions will lend itself to something equally powerful. I am stumbling onto these practices that my grandfathers and great grandfathers in the faith engaged in. I am learning about these attitudes and intuitions are so different than the kinds of things we call doctrine today. I don’t know about you, but I am running out of patience, and even interest, in conversations about doctrine. I hope that maybe you’ll share a little something about where your journey is taking you, and maybe our common joys and challenges might help each other along, and we might lift each other up. Thanks for doing this journey with me.

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