The breath and the delusion
mingle together in sweat and slime
struggling, grasping, pointing fingers
in disgust or dismay.
There in the mix is death
there is God
there is struggle
there is hope.
Not hope in the breath of those of low estate -
Not hope in the delusion of those of high estate -
but hope in the holy spark that ignites and illumines.
Hope in the faffification and funeral preparation
Hope in the joy that is stronger than happiness
More durable and more real.
Those of low estate are but a breath,
those of high estate are a delusion;
in the balances they go up;
they are together lighter than a breath.
-Psalm 62:9
Just as metaphor breaks through morning's mental fog
ReplyDeletewith clarity and focus to delight the soul,
the nostrils are distracted by fresh-ground Sumatra
and Everything Bagels slathered in cream cheese.
Just as the sleep-soaked synapses reach to grasp
some meaning buried deep between the lines -
dancing, flitting, peeking out between
the interstices of syllables - the phone rings.
With each translation comes an edit;
Each edit brings a new interpretation. How can the lowly
be naught but vanity? Can a man not rise,
except through lies? Is that all man was made for?
How dare we curse the droplets and spatters He applied
and say that the canvas was better off without them?
Perhaps in all creation, no dot or line's more vital
than another, and to imagine so is lies and vanity.
My brain aches. I hang up the phone, swallow the coffee,
ponder the passage once more... and close the window,
lest the rest of the day seem too futile, too sad and gray,
and I be tempted to crawl back between the covers.