Conception II
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The Holy Spirit is looking at Mary's house. It is late, but there is a light flickering in her window. It looks like an invitation, and the Holy Spirit smiles and trembles. The simple symbolism of the flame pushing back the darkness moves him, and for a moment he waits and watches the light.
The Holy Spirit is with Mary in her room. He is hanging above her like a sheltering shadow, and he is holding in his hand the DNA of God. He watches her from above and deliberately holds onto the moment, savoring the feeling of it between his fingers. It's a caress, this lingering, this anticipation of a moment that can only happen once. Suspended above the moment of conception, the Holy Spirit opens his hand to look at the unmade Man he loves. Something like grief or joy burns around the edges of his heart, and he clutches the One he is carrying, breathing out a desperate lullaby,
"I have no name for what you mean to me,
My blood, my breath, my Self, my progeny.
I'd find your death and die there easily
To see you loved as you deserve to be.
I have but one consuming part to play,
One scene, one role, a single line to say.
I hear your voice, and my heart keeps at bay
All other sweet and rival repartee.
I have in hand the flesh and blood of you.
I have in mind the cross you're going to.
I hold this grief, so ancient, so brand new,
And taste the joy of what I've vowed to do.
I have no name for what you mean to me.
But I must name you, darling prodigy.
I name you Jesus, and the sound will be
The favorite music of the Trinity."
The Holy Spirit is silent. He looks at Mary again, studying the contours of her face, drinking in the tremulous innocence of her eyes. She is humming an eastern melody as she pours water into a basin, and he knows that she is thinking of angels and babies. The sound of her song gets inside him, and suddenly, he is in love with mankind all over again. With simple, graceful passion, he reaches out his open hand to her, and there is a microscopic explosion inside her womb.
The Holy Spirit stays in the room watching Mary. A moment ago she wasn't pregnant. Now she is. The Holy Spirit watches her washing her feet and the melody she is humming entwines itself around the words still going through his mind,
"I have no name for what you mean to me,
My blood, my breath, my Self, my progeny.
I'd find your death and die there easily
To see you loved as you deserve to be "
Copyright 2001 by Cherie Dack
All rights reserved.
City Faces
Harsh voices, strange places
Narrow streets and narrow faces
Welcome to the city
Thick tight air, hard to breath
Once in, you never leave
Expect no pity
Pavements lined with human rubbish
Their eyes tell many stories
Stories of lives sent spinning down
In the city of a million frowns
For them there is no glory
People running,
never stop
Keep on running, 'till you drop
Constant pressure,
constant fighting
Nothing left to take delight in
City takes you,
city makes you
City hates you,
city breaks you
Breaks your body,
grinds your bones
City breeds it's special clones
Take the tube to work each day
Someone's crying,
look away,
Someone's dying, check the time
Allright Jack?
Yes, I'm just fine....
Exaggeration you may think
As you sit and sip your drink
Go see the city, look around
While you're there, try looking down....
by keith arnold
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