This Sunday's reading from Isaiah 6:1-8 reminded me that a few summers ago, while on sabbatical, I wrote this poem about my own longing for a revelation from God...one with the power of Isaiah's vision:
Theophany on Emily Lake Road
I want one. Of Biblical proportions --
bushes blaze
angels unfurl three sets of Technicolor
wings, volcanic voices roar
BE NOT AFRAID.
I want to be afraid
overwhelmed
by the mystery
flattened
crying, "Woe! Woe!"
So I climb this hill like Sinai
with a gray gravel flank
to empty flat straight long
road
no sign no sound nor
susurration of wings --
just a stone, solid enough,
round ochre dull as a pillow,
a feather undusted
shows black white blue.
A truck roars past in a cloud,
pours dust upon my head.
The radio sings out
"Whoa, whoa, baby. Whoa, whoa."
-- Kit Carlson
6/6/12
Theophany on Emily Lake Road
I want one. Of Biblical proportions --
bushes blaze
angels unfurl three sets of Technicolor
wings, volcanic voices roar
BE NOT AFRAID.
I want to be afraid
overwhelmed
by the mystery
flattened
crying, "Woe! Woe!"
So I climb this hill like Sinai
with a gray gravel flank
to empty flat straight long
road
no sign no sound nor
susurration of wings --
just a stone, solid enough,
round ochre dull as a pillow,
a feather undusted
shows black white blue.
A truck roars past in a cloud,
pours dust upon my head.
The radio sings out
"Whoa, whoa, baby. Whoa, whoa."
-- Kit Carlson
6/6/12