My steps slow at the threshold of this little hollow around which two trees hold their arms like parents in a perpetual embrace. This space between, this sheltered cove, like their child, eternally living in the safety of their shadows. Wind sings through needles and boughs, and I bow.
History holds in her hands the tales of two classes of men.
Those who have given their souls away to be used and abused by Darkness in exchange for a little gold, a little lust, a little glamor…
And those who have given their lives away so someone else could live.
Like a man spilling his life blood for someone paler, to find it filled again, or not.
I press palms into mat of pine needles and press my soul into the door.
I want to be the second kind of man. I beg You to make me through and through, the second kind of man…
I rise, back slowly away from the place. Look down for my shoes.
I sit to slip them back on, and while I do, I steal a glance back towards the cove embraced by the cedars.
And that, is when I thought of you.
And this warrior in me, this fighter that is sometimes a stranger and doesn’t fit in my skin, this thunder that must come from elsewhere because I don’t have the spark to ignite it, it suddenly flashed and roared like the end of the world. And then it was gone. But it left a burn, a throbbing ache. And a breathlessness, and a racing heart.
And this prayer:
Let each of us find in this life ground so holy that shod feet never step there.
Never, oh never be satisfied till you have found your burning bush.
November 16, 2013 at 1:56 am
November 24, 2013 at 6:37 pm
Your blog brings me back to the most fiery passions that sometimes burn down to mere embers. Thank you, Sean.
November 27, 2013 at 7:54 pm
Hey Sean, I'm Penel In Africa, Your family is a wonderful family indeed…
God keep you all…