January 17, 2007 : a dream-compelled narration
5:20AM: already overcome by a welter of words (and I have spoken none): a penitential psalm of great antiquity, words of Isaiah from the time of Cyrus the Great (6th century BCE), a lesson from Ephesians that could not have been written before 80 or 90 of this era (deutero-Pauline), the Gospel of Mark from about 70CE, several collects; a poem of a Polish poet born 10 years after me, and one of an American living in Hawaii born 25 years before me. Read the plot summaries of both the film The Incredible Shrinking Man and the novel it was based upon, and a phrase of Martin Amis, “(his) soul had been doing the work of decrease” (self-referencing comments). And there are still the images of that strange detritus of the night, dreams … that are, I suppose, the detritus of the previous day(s). Is there an eye (I) to this storm?
The psalm (38) spoke not a word to me; it felt a little like self-loathing…self-indulgent.
Am fairly amazed by this Isaiah who claims Cyrus is a servant of the Hebrew God doing this god’s calling though he, Cyrus, does not know this God. It is a remarkably open and embracing posture from such a provincial setting: reading world history from my backyard.
How modern, meaning normal, this church in Ephesus seems with all its little petty disputes and conflicts; how really sweet is the message: be tender to one another.
You wonder reading Mark why someone(s) allowed this sermonette to be attached to the parable; it too is a work of decrease.
But it’s water, peaches, and the sun that remain etched in my brain, the poetic images and the little orchard we planted this fall, an Asian pear, a Fuji apple, and two Georgia peaches.
Does the setting sun recite its own poetry … believe in its resurrection?
The rain from two days ago will move from the iridescent clay, up through the roots of the peaches and become the nectar that dribbles down our chins back into the clay as we bite into one of those peaches (two years from now) ripened by sun that will have resurrected numerous times despite its indifference: the irony of divine love, or the divine irony of love.
5:20AM: already overcome by a welter of words (and I have spoken none): a penitential psalm of great antiquity, words of Isaiah from the time of Cyrus the Great (6th century BCE), a lesson from Ephesians that could not have been written before 80 or 90 of this era (deutero-Pauline), the Gospel of Mark from about 70CE, several collects; a poem of a Polish poet born 10 years after me, and one of an American living in Hawaii born 25 years before me. Read the plot summaries of both the film The Incredible Shrinking Man and the novel it was based upon, and a phrase of Martin Amis, “(his) soul had been doing the work of decrease” (self-referencing comments). And there are still the images of that strange detritus of the night, dreams … that are, I suppose, the detritus of the previous day(s). Is there an eye (I) to this storm?
The psalm (38) spoke not a word to me; it felt a little like self-loathing…self-indulgent.
Am fairly amazed by this Isaiah who claims Cyrus is a servant of the Hebrew God doing this god’s calling though he, Cyrus, does not know this God. It is a remarkably open and embracing posture from such a provincial setting: reading world history from my backyard.
How modern, meaning normal, this church in Ephesus seems with all its little petty disputes and conflicts; how really sweet is the message: be tender to one another.
You wonder reading Mark why someone(s) allowed this sermonette to be attached to the parable; it too is a work of decrease.
But it’s water, peaches, and the sun that remain etched in my brain, the poetic images and the little orchard we planted this fall, an Asian pear, a Fuji apple, and two Georgia peaches.
Does the setting sun recite its own poetry … believe in its resurrection?
The rain from two days ago will move from the iridescent clay, up through the roots of the peaches and become the nectar that dribbles down our chins back into the clay as we bite into one of those peaches (two years from now) ripened by sun that will have resurrected numerous times despite its indifference: the irony of divine love, or the divine irony of love.
posted by Dafath at 7:42 AM
1 Comments:
'how really sweet is the message: be tender to one another'
yes do unto others.. .
no other laws would be necessary
is envy one of those horrific faults? if so i am guilty. I want your little orchard
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