[25 January 2020]
And so you live, you breathe,
in the space between now and then –
every word is as it should be, every breath
and every way of thinking right. Each one
carried on the back of the one before it,
each one carrying on its back the one
that comes after it. Each one is part of
one and the same – an altar, stone on
stone on stone, consecrated and set alight
in name of something greater than itself:
itself. Every step towards or away from
is a step into further knowing of the
very thing it seeks to find. See,
the dead live: they live in the hallowed halls
of our speech, they mingle in our
blood and muscle and bone and tissue
and bodily fluids, they hide in every inhale
and triumphantly burst forth with every
proclamation: See, you, too, are dead, and
I have conquered you.
The word and the deed are consorts, sacred
and sanctimonious, each pouring forth from
the joy of the other, each delighting in being
alive, each pulling the other from obscurity
into a higher calling, a symphony of solace
unbroken, a sweet cross to bear, a meaning
making meaning nothing less than journey
into transcendence. It is now that
we can see. It is now the light falls on the olive
tree that grows in the centre of the old churchyard.
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