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Reflections |
Page 6 of 12 Once upon Ash Wednesday... It was the same date as today, Ash Wednesday of that year, An opaque sky heralded the bleak disciplines of Lent. Cremated palm leaves made soot as fine as stoneground cornsilk, Echoes of long-past hosannas Fading in the deadened air. Metanoia, said the purpled priest, Examine the inward heart, Don't stint a loving God who pours out on his children all he has. Cherish not what must be left behind. Toss in the season's pyre security and vanity, And mercy will rain down. Was forteiture of wine enough? The giving of hard-earned alms? Precious time bestowed upon the Forlorn and sick and exiled? A rigorous schedule of study, abstinence from all forms of twentieth century gluttony? And hymns of praise? No! None of that would answer, A different sacrifice was due: My best-beloved of seven years - in deep-forged chains I dare not break - must be relinquished. Would God stoop low to pity me as he had for Abraham, wanting no filial holocaust? He did not spare the harrowing, but gave me Grace to acquiesce and view a bigger picture. Three corners are unstable, Buckling in turn, begging a fourth. Three demands death, two is viable. That Good Friday, my birthday, Swallowed my thenself in its grave. All's history today. And what should I conclude? Some kernel of evergreen truth was broadcast there without a context of its own? Wrong time! Wrong place! Wrong life! Wrong..! It's gone! ...but thrives for ever in the Land of Resurrection where there's no melding or giving in marriage. ©RosyCole2009 |