Shall We Gather at the River?
I don’t want to be anachronistic. In the flotsam and jetsam of my subconscious, what if the thoughts which rise to the surface are irrelevant? Worse yet, what if there are secrets in the subterranean darkness, I simply don’t want to know?
When I was young, I used words to stop the bleeding (this didn’t always work). Ragged and raw, I made little attempt to dress them up. I still use words to explain where I am standing, but I’m no longer desperate. I think of words as messengers. Arrows looking for a mark. They’ve lost their urgency, while retaining their vitality. So what if I grow obsolete? I’ve given my homily. I’ve chanted my magical incantations. I’ve used my gifts and shared them freely. It’s been a good life and will be a good death, because I’m curious. Whatever comes next, I won’t be alone. There’ll be a legion of Love surrounding me. A sea of familiar faces. A joyful reunion. A great choir gathering at the River.
LBM 8/3/2019
