And so the curse prevailed un-curtailed.
I, for my own desires, continued in failing
maintaining that blasted work
of stitching leaves into garments
Even when dried skin sufficed to unify.
Where hands failed, I made new ones to fit,
and covered the blood that soaked them;
Where feet had come unstuck,
cracked from the toil and sweat,
I fashioned boots to hide the bones
fleshed by scars upon scars;
Where my eyes resisted my heart’s covenants
dark glasses over the spaces in the mask,
the same that covered the mind
whos banner self had turned
from usurpations of benevolence
to tyranny’s reign.
“Words I chained in Hymns
and winds to whom once in song I’d yield
rose I and tamed.”
But I hear it,
resounding like the distant echo
of a thousand drums;
a thousand shakers attached to dancer’s heels,
peering over the hills that form the surrounding horizon –
my prison of deeds.
Like the sweetness I once recalled
from the days before the banishing,
before the knowing that couldn’t be unknown;
before the seeing that couldn’t be unseen;
the blaming that couldn’t be undone;
the hiding that couldn’t by my hand be uncovered;
the betrayal to which i’m here unstuck –
like the sweetness of before it rests,
tethered to the memory deep behind
what I’ve hidden;
from the spaces that dream of beyond
bonding to the things the blasted hills deny.
Ahh it is a crying only I can hear, I think,
teased into being by the thoughts that this wind whispers
“there is still good left in him”
I hope for it’s truth
but live out the lie.
walking in the undoable denying of the third crow;
living at the end of the sixth hour,
and the death that is now known as end.
For words I failed to attend,
and actions i’d never commend,
its neither me nor pretence.
“I call out to you, again and again,
Yet you linger.”
From whence cometh my help?
© Denis Adide 2015
Dust from fleeing horses
as they leap into the shadow
of the hills I have looked to for help
A thief this night forced
open my stable doors
and to the ground brought my walls and fences
Now with empty words
my lips turn to silence
It wasn’t fire but my own hands that had encompassed me.
“Did the nails,
stained by your blood;
still holding bits of your flesh;
sounding notes from hammer blows;
Did the rough cut wood,
bed for your final rest;
cradle for the crucified;
once soaked for mercy,
ever succumb to rot?
Did the rocks,
hewen out to carry someone else,
rejoice as they laid your body –
their sculptor broken –
awaiting his awakening,
I busied myself with a measuring line;
chiseling stones for the wall.
high and thick I made it,
then sitting silently within,
I missed the wind.
Plundered I look to you:
My fortress and shield.
© Denis Adide 2015
“Alas for those who go down to Egypt for help
and who rely on horses,
who trust in chariots because they are many
and in horsemen because they are very strong,
but do not look to the Holy One of Israel
or consult the Lord!
The Egyptians are human, and not God;
their horses are flesh, and not spirit.
When the Lord stretches out his hand,
the helper will stumble, and the one helped will fall,
and they will all perish together.”
Isaiah 31:1 & 3
“This people honors me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me;
in vain do they worship me,
teaching human precepts as doctrines.”
I Just had to share this… Worth the watch and ponder!
“Awe and terror have a fine defining border. Nothing captures this more for me than the sea. Every time my eyes reach for the horizon they are confronted with its impossibility: the truth of my own limitation in the face of ambition. As I think on it, the waves break forth and the reality of a depth that surpasses the visible distance in scope terrifies. Indeed I’m once more a spec, not even of as much consequence as the wind blown drop nestling on my eyelash. Before is beyond and I thirst for it hoping it would be my becoming.
The trouble is, this terror ahead – this awe – conceals by its drawing of my attention the truth of the vastness behind. I suppose this is the curse of ambition: never really taking stock of the unmastered past. The land that my eyes ignore isn’t covered in my footprints yet has contributed more to my foundations than the seas with all their potential can”.
He draws breath. Scratches his head and pauses.
“I cut my hair bald for a decade.” The words emerge from darkness and disappear, like headlights on a country lane.
“I wonder what happened to them. The faces that like my childhood memories irregularly haunt: showing up to confront what’s before in violent eruptions; claiming authority over the present; branding the eye; calling false all that is and is to come; and howling as the wind blows them away – back into the abyss we share”.
A breath intentionally drawn once again.
“There are terrors both ways; awe both ways. One must turn his back to the seas now and again. To bask in the unrecognized sublime”.
This is an illustration my comic book Bible. A day after casting my vote I’m reading when I find myself stuck and struck simultaneously by what I’m looking at. The picture has a well defined, symmetrical, and handsome man beneath the purple robes: the illustrator’s perspective on Jesus I think. Looking beyond that, I note that what is beneath the robes is the same that made the universe. The same that destined the fingers that are placing the robe, accessorised by ridicule, on his skin – sore from the whipping he’s just received. The discipline that focuses the destructive potential into love is awe inspiring. Power here is expressed fully in it’s application, or seeming inaction.
I saw here Ultimate power; Absolute power; Universe creating power. Alongside it also a real Response-ability, gentleness and self control. This was here a pattern – a template and challenge – for how to hold power. There really wasn’t anyone more powerful thus no other pattern other than this has any authority and authenticity: this was a lesson from the source. Those who thought they had power actually had none and he who seemed powerless and bound actually had it all.
It gave me solace in the face of my post election dispair – I lamented the system not the outcome. Here in this picture I saw the indictment against human structures and the power they claim to have. I saw clearly the truth that in the man Jesus only was there the combination of power and responsibility: a combination neccesary for the complete redemption of humanity. This task was, is, and will always be beyond us. All I can do is respond: surrender, repent, anticipate, and bear witness.
But am I thirsty?
Yearning for the cup of obedience,
For the sour wine of humility
And the salvation it brings?
Am I thirsty?
To endure with you and not to reign,
To stay faithful through the pain,
To praise in chains,
Or when blood stains my imperfect garments?
Am I thirsty?
Knowing that nothing else satisfies
No food for this desire,
Wood for this dying fire?
Or am I mourning my death while waiting
For it all to dry up!
Give me thirst,
Give me hunger.
March me into the wilderness,
Into the desert where you are.
Give me stones
Destroy my thrones
Shake these bones and make me re-membered.
The beds are dry, the clouds long departed:
Give me thirst,
Give me the name to call
Give me the knees upon which to fall.
In deed I rage against mercy,
Refusing the first.
Give me thirst
© Denis Adide 2015
Before he dies Jesus drinks the ‘Cup’ after saying he thirsts. This the same cup he asks be taken away in Gethsemane. On the cross he thirsts. Is it a thirst for something to drink or is it a desire to be obedient even unto death: death on a cross. He desires to take upon himself the work of salvation.
“My food is to do the will of him who sent me”.