Monthly Archives: March 2010
“The Kiss of the Coal”
I am
surrounded
enveloped
cradled in the arms of Love
my mind unravels,
all of the knots, released
as I breathe in with you
my head on your chest
your fingers twisting through my hair
as you speak peace to my soul
was I ever alone? I cannot remember it,
was I ever afraid? I can’t imagine why…
was I ever alive, before this moment—I doubt it
now
now
the band around my chest is broken
your voice washes me, and I can
breathe
You speak so close
you do not hesitate
to brush my lips with your breath
closer yet…closer…
your voice resonates
in my chest,
on my lips—I form your words with you, and, together,
we speak,
you burn my tongue
the coal is hot—you have ruined my taste for anything
but you
your sweet words
the only thing I find sweet…
“you have put your words in my mouth”,
“milk and honey are under my tongue”,
what was wicked is seared
made holy by your coal
purified
an acceptable sacrifice
a pleasing aroma to our God,
offered up by my Priest, as I
lay my
head
on his chest tonight,…
Yes, my love,
you have anointed me…
“Oh, my Father, we praise you,
smile upon our love…”
(“His left hand is under my head,
His right arm embraces me,
His mouth
is
sweetness itself…”)
I am falling
your eyes are killing me
I don’t think I can stand it, but…
please, please, never
ever
stop…
I accept your invitation,
your invitation to be One
You are a consumming fire:
my burning,
our consummation;
your beauty—
my addiction,
your Love, your
Touch—
my complete undoing,
I know
I know,
I will never be the same…
(Journal Entry, Summer 2006):
I could write about this all day…the way I could feel His gentle, deep voice resonating through the depths of the ocean, shaking the heavens, quieting my soul. The way that His voice vibrated my vocal chords as the bow of a cello grabs its strings, filling its body with rich, warm music, as we spoke the same, mysterious words, from one Spirit…
A Tender Moment…
One of my daughter’s favorite stories for me to tell her while snuggling at bedtime is the story of the day I met her—the day she was born. She begged me to relay it again last night, and I obligingly began the tale.
I told her about how excited I was to hold her for the first time, but that Mommy had unexpected complications, which necessitated a very concerned room full of nurses to confiscate my new little bundle all too quickly, turning her over to Daddy for her first bath on the other side of the room. I described how the suddenly sober doctor worked deftly to try to save Mommy’s life, while Daddy and Nonnie stood by, trying not to let their faces betray what they knew and I didn’t— that the hemorrhaging was not stopping. They knew the clock was ticking.
And I told her how Mommy, oblivious to the seriousness of the situation, had only one focus:
“My baby is crying—why won’t they let me HOLD her?”
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So I did the only thing I could do. I started to sing the lullaby I had written for her, the one she had heard a thousand times in the warm, dark months that she was tucked away inside of me. And as soon as the familiar notes reached her at the other side of the hospital room, with Mommy straining her neck around to try to catch a glimpse of her, my baby girl did a beautiful thing.
She stopped crying. Suddenly. Completely.
Turning her head toward the sound, her bright, dark eyes already shining, she seemed to be searching for the source. And we stayed that way—me singing, her listening, both of us oblivious to the heroic endeavors of the medical staff—until the danger had passed and Daddy was able to deposit my newly bathed, perfect, precious little girl back into my arms where she belonged.
With a tear in the corner of my eye, I looked down at my now 9-year-old little pile of perfection, who heaved a contented sigh, looked up, and thoughtfully said:
“Mom, aren’t you glad we’re not animals, who LICK their babies clean? You know, like elephants.”
So much for sentiment…
