Tuesday, June 8, 2010

God, you are
a word that unwrites me
our meeting places
are filled with sun
You are
my intangible thoughts
my heart, laden bare
of words, with words, and none
speak as clearly
as you

2 comments:

Tim Shey said...

Beautiful poem.

Jesus Christ is the Word without words. Sometimes too many words can kill the eternal moment. And sometimes the right word written is the what the Word wants written.

The Lord Jesus Christ isn't just a bunch of Bible verses. He is the God of Glory.

Tim Shey said...

Spiritual communion with God is wordless.

When praying to God, you can use words--but it doesn't have to be wordy. The heathen think that they will be heard because of their repetitious praying. Pray simply and earnestly; the Lord knows your heart. After a while, mental prayer will dissolve into spiritual prayer (communion)(and communion IS NOT eating a wafer or a cracker with some wine in a church service--we don't commune with physical bread and wine--we commune with the Father--"We worship Him in Spirit and in truth.")

I love what you wrote: "God, you are a word that unwrites me."

"In order to possess what you do not possess you must go by the way of dispossession." --T.S. Eliot

In order for us to write what the Lord wants us to write we must go by the way of self-denial. "Take up your cross and follow me."

If the Lord can speak without words, so can we if Christ lives within us.

"At the rebuke of His countenance they fled."

--Psalms

Here is another line that you wrote that is absolutely right (write) on target: ". . . my heart, laden bare of words, with words, and none speak as clearly as you."

Amen.

"Love is most nearly itself when here and now cease to matter."

--T.S. Eliot

When one is caught up in the glorious Presence of God (rapture), here and now cease to matter.

"Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning."

--T.S. Eliot