I wish there was understanding and room for people to reap from the Decalogue. But the soil has been eroded all over the earth. There are some who remember the body-deep dirt, but they will soon pass. I didn't even know to look for it until a year or so ago. Too little, too late, they say, whoever they are. Parables are difficult to touch when their metaphorical force has been vacuumed out, thrown to the desert winds, tossed in the combustion engines rapidly driving the world mad, emaciated.
Among the billions, yet, there is hope. Where, I'm not entirely sure, but I'm wanting to look. Will someone help me search? We must rest for the work, for the travels inside and out, and we are with more than enough, even when everything around is being plucked from the ground, being disappeared. We may never gain the deep soil back, so Spirit, please sow deep in our hearts the will and the way to still follow the intended path.
Forgive me now before I fail, if that is what I am to do. In the meantime, speak soft and kind, hard and true words through me, with caring hands and understanding eyes to accompany any following corpus.
(Exodus 20:1-17, Psalm 19, Matthew 13:18-23)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment