An unknown terror ambushed my awareness
in the forest
and rushed past me,
demonic and
crazed,
leaving me with an unspeakable
nightmare.
God's light of truth is in that hideous memory
yet to be fully uncovered;
and that speck of certainty
keeps me warm.
Friday, February 25, 2022
Amidst the Chill
Flash of White
The bare, written truth is neither interpersonal speech
nor its substitute.
It is a reality so strong,
it burns through the soul,
white hot,
flashing its light through the heart, into the mind,
until precise words can shape and carry it
to the blank page.
Tuesday, February 22, 2022
Lost
The hills cry and
the grass screams
and the sun bears down
over the New York border,
over the New York border,
over the New York border.
Written and originally posted by me on a presently archived blog of mine on September 8, 2020.
Tuesday, February 15, 2022
On the Outside
First notes struck --
suspense building, and ...
nothing.
I cried hard
this time --
because I could not remember.
I,
for whom musical recall defines
every momentous yesterday,
could not feel even a twinge of familiarity
toward the prelude which had
ushered me onstage.
As in my having learned -- from another -- of my
baffled moment
while playing piano in the pit,
when the director admonished the singer,
I was now an outsider, once again,
to my own meaningful flow of being.
My alternately filed nuances of memory
(by this, realized as hidden
in compartments secret from me) --
the thing which
excludes me.
And so I beheld,
as a first-time audience,
the magical introduction
to my own character's entrance
over 40 years past,
while the tears streamed down --
because I had never
heard anything like it.
suspense building, and ...
nothing.
I cried hard
this time --
because I could not remember.
I,
for whom musical recall defines
every momentous yesterday,
could not feel even a twinge of familiarity
toward the prelude which had
ushered me onstage.
As in my having learned -- from another -- of my
baffled moment
while playing piano in the pit,
when the director admonished the singer,
I was now an outsider, once again,
to my own meaningful flow of being.
My alternately filed nuances of memory
(by this, realized as hidden
in compartments secret from me) --
the thing which
excludes me.
And so I beheld,
as a first-time audience,
the magical introduction
to my own character's entrance
over 40 years past,
while the tears streamed down --
because I had never
heard anything like it.
Wednesday, February 2, 2022
Silent Stroll
No matter that the road and driveway were impassable with snow-covered ice. The singing birds knew better.
Dappled with sunlight on the inside, she glanced outside to the gray but bright mountain vista this early evening in early February. Although seated at her desk, in her mind she strolled outdoors, on a warmer gray day -- yes, in the morning, on an unimposing gray day! -- filled with all the colors of bold winter and tender Spring, deep shades and pastels intertwined in her heart. Buoyed up, infused with His strength, touched by His peace, her spirit was reassured. "Reassured of what?" one might have asked her. "Reassured of anything," she might have answered.
Jesus: God. The longer she knew Him, the less she knew Him ... but the more she knew that He knew her.