A poem by Dave Carrol
A poem by Dave Carrol
Long after the clock had struck, a regular collection of scatterlings congregate in the dark room, dropping their travel satchels by their side.
It’s been a long day of ascension and the snack in the pack seems tastier than the dinner date. Some, wearing the Emperor’s New Clothes with the assumption of invisibility, clump and whisper of the unspeakable.
Others cackle obliviously at gains of the day.
Things ancient are spoken of.
It’s an Ephod wearing a brand new shirt; fancy but you can see the stones on the breastplate shining through if you’re looking for them.
The shofar is sounded.
It’s a dry, jarring pronouncement; quite disparate from the daily grinding pedestrian soundtrack.
Each guest sweats from the humid expectations of man and God.
Some bodes sway like palms in a storm while others remain awkwardly still, exposed ... uncomfortably unmoved by the the rhythms.
Eyes of judgment scan the rows, assigning each a name.
GoodThe nice folks say what nice-sayers say.
They sure are nice.
I wonder what it’s like to be nice?
The strong and knowledgeable plunge themselves into the icy, shocking, rejuvenating, waters and howl from the freedom sting.
Their hearty souls begin to be "caught up" into the current of an invisible river.
The view from the shore is far from orderly and the charge of “Charade” is muttered and tisked by envious lips.
It's familiar to the swimmers, and they graciously keep swimming as men such as these do.
Men such as these do not allow themselves to be "caught up" for the approval of gawkers.
These are such men who know what it IS to be "caught up"
Just today one such man walked hours in the midday sun to ascend the hill with his sacrifice in tow.
He now splashes about "caught up" as his tunic lays discarded and forgotten on a rock.
There was a day where, part way along the journey, this man secomed to the heat and dove into muddy waters... just to cool his flesh.
The mire was pleasant to the skin. Cool and soothing.
He was "caught up"... and towed under by the snare of mediocrity that lay barely beneath.
If you ask him, he'll happily tell you of the day his liberator rescued him so he could ascend.
Oh and how he ascended that day!
This man knows what it IS to be "caught up."
Today he dips himself in the magic waters that flow from and to life.
He is of great report.
Admired in the land.
He DOES while the docile dose.
His Regal Abandon marks him with a destiny dot.
Veils still scrim the mystical duplicity of ascension; how one can go up... and yet not.
As swallows migrate,
As bears hibernate,
so does the allure of rarefied air draw man upward.
But ascension alone cannot make man breathe it...
... and ASCEND.
"Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little."
"Who may ascend the hill of the LORD ? Who may stand in his holy place? He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who does not lift up his soul to an idol."
King David who danced naked before the Lord