Wednesday, July 22, 2009


I am the mystic
To whom belief came slowly.
I doubted because I could not see God
And when I prayed I only knew silence.

My sister knows God in the daily chores
In the baking of the bread
But to me God comes as angels
And Light so bright I could not stand
But fell to my knees
In the courtyard of our house
Right by the fig tree.
Martha scolded me for spilling the water.

When I first heard His words
I wept and wept.
Inconsolable for days
As my world died around me.
Then after the tears
when I awoke
I found God had built me another.

They tell me it is blasphemy
This new teaching.
But I who never loved God
Have learned to love so much and so freely
That I see Him in every drop of water
Every fig
Every lizard
Every voice in the street
Every beggar who stops at our door.
Perhaps it is blasphemy.

When He died
I stood and watched the lights go out.
But the angels stood by me, hands on my shoulders
And in His mother’s voice told me
The morning would come.

They say the Spirit came to the twelve
And they spoke as one.
But I have always known God
Burning like tongues of fire.
And I will not be afraid.