Advent Song

I just returned from visiting with friends in Canada, among them, Robert and Helen Pynn. Bob is a wonderful poet who has sent me this fine piece, which I wanted to publish in the blog. Thanks Bob.

We sing
the lament of life
in the flatland
of either/or --

where walls divide
and the abhorrent is
preemptively removed.

Everything is set
in the clear and distinct air.
Judgment is without suspension,
thought without reflection,
action without consideration

until
a voice cries out in the wilderness
and the boundaries shift in the desert wind --
as the law repents of its letter.

Suddenly, spirit blows hot like refiner’s fire,
uncovering the abhorrent and the good
burning together in our souls.

The knife is stayed
as the mixed orb intersects the plane.

Prepare the way for mercy’s child:
straight will be made crooked,
plane spiral into exultation,
smooth ways into the wonder
of fierce landscapes.

Torrents of fresh water
will pour onto parched ground;
drowning former ways
in rivers of metamorphosis.

Come now, come, die before you die,
rise up in the new skin of mind beyond mind-
alert in the eternal disturbance of coming glory.

Robert Pynn