With a terrifying beating of wings, nothing human or natural, neither thunder nor lightning but something
other, force winds winnowed through arrows, to herald not an apocalypse, that would be too easy, but a message unconditionally implacable
that you take responsibility for the future by behaving well in the present,
gripping iron bedposts and cringing as the angel only you could hear swept overhead, transfixed by beauty so piercing that without faith you would have been blinded,
Rilke,
mumbling incoherently as language shredded your throat and you were wounded, made to speak words that were what they named,
enraptured by simple breath in the castle’s tower.
I grew up in Christian fundamentalism, went to hell, came back, became a Presbyterian then a Buddhist Presbyterian, and now I'm a profane Presbyterian Zen Taoist -- not that I'm into labels or anything. Here's what I've learned so far: The more you know, the more you know you don't know.
2 comments:
The Last To Believe In Angels
With a terrifying beating of wings, nothing human or natural, neither thunder nor lightning but something
other, force winds winnowed through arrows, to herald not an apocalypse, that would be too easy, but a message unconditionally implacable
that you take responsibility for the future by behaving well in the present,
gripping iron bedposts and cringing as the angel only you could hear swept overhead, transfixed by beauty so piercing that without faith you would have been blinded,
Rilke,
mumbling incoherently as language shredded your throat and you were wounded, made to speak words that were what they named,
enraptured by simple breath in the castle’s tower.
[Disposable Prose November 3, 2009]
Dr. Mike
Problem is that you can't really share it because the music is different for each person.
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