I started this one last Monday, and finished it this evening. It’s (sort of) about Advent. I hope you like it! 🙂
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Cinnamon and Chocolate
They say the light outshines the frigid dark;
They don’t tell you where the light comes from…
The light is liquid and liminal and licentious;
It pours in from outside our petty paradigms of productivity,
And shows itself in all our crevices.
The light is born in fraught fragility,
Tended by tender hands, wakened by woundedness,
And helped by nature’s verdant healing arts.
The star that guides the Magi is no signpost;
It’s the symbol of a fierce and boundless love…
The star is righteousness going nova,
The coalescing of apocalyptic anger and lavish love.
That love rains down upon the burning Amazon,
And silences the heavy chatter in the perfunctory halls of power.
It dances in Hong Kong’s still-harried streets,
Says yes to every ravished soul in Yemen,
And affirms the peacemakers in Aleppo
And every other place upon this fragile globe…
The love still rains upon us in gentler ways,
Through honest conversations where
We scale the sordid walls of sorrow together…
And through lit starburst moments of joy,
Where Mendelssohn breaks upon us like a wave,
And every scent is cinnamon and chocolate,
And all the lights align, and it all makes sense.
Then we can feel the presence of the One,
The heart that beats within the verdant world,
The angel wing that covers all our griefs,
The peaceful sea that holds our every care…
Although we may need space to know ourselves,
That love still holds us, in our hardened hearts,
And coaxes us (like steady tom-tom drums)
Towards the harmonies of fallen snow,
The synergy that it alone contains.
It beckons us in lighted Lincoln Square,
And intercedes in lonely Christie Pits.
Each lake’s a conduit for lavish love –
Bright Michigan, or summer-sweet Superior,
Or red-tailed Erie, home of many birds.
That fierce and faithful love still cascades down
And cuts across the arch Experience.
We enter, singing, through prismatic gates,
Proceed through haunts of pleasure and of pain,
And pass into the throne-room of the stars,
The room where Sister Silence waits for us.
Her joyful finger’s ever at her lips
Until she beckons us into her room
Where lush green candles light our way to bed.