Monday, July 26, 2010

Criss-Cross

In being still
    the word dissolves in birdsong,
    distant sounds
        after harvest –
    engines, half-heard voices
         across the valley.

The word dissolves –
    logos in simple bread,
        dark wine -
into the very cells of us.
We grow Christ
    within us,
become what we have eaten,
    a new and imperceptible birth.
We are not what we thought.

Above us the sky is blue
    between clouds,
Mary-dress blue.
It magnifies the Lord,
    leads what we could become
        up to the swallows’ paths,
    criss-crossed with altitude,
        hope,
    the way back home.

Mike Farley
(written at Hilfield Friary)

3 comments:

  1. Mike, beautiful :)

    I especially love "leads what we could become / up to the swallows’ paths"

    Beautiful, beautiful.

    I have some old tapes playing at the moment. My inner observer, God bless her/him/it, sits watching, noting how it feels falling back into old thoughts of debilitation and victimhood, knowing what it has learnt so far, knowing the beautiful freedom. Sometimes it is great faith to simply sit and know and believe you will find your way back, that Godde is always in the business of breadcrumb paths. Thank you for adding this visual to the journey back. Bless ya, Mike.

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  2. Churlish person that I am, I never said thanks for these good words, Sue. Really really glad you liked it!

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  3. Forgetful ain't churlish, Mike :)

    You're welcome.

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