![]() |
|
Spaces home When the Sky Draws ClosePhotosProfileFriendsMore ![]() | ![]() |
|
When the Sky Draws Close-- from a Bard of the Grey Wind
2/14/2008 As OneTwo Trees
[to my wife on the 21st anniversary of our first meeting]
Two trees, sharing one soil, reaching together into one sunlight, drinking with single joy of every rain, in time entangle roots, meld trunk and branch, wear common rings, and come to live-- or die-- as one. Wound this, and that will wither; but nurture that, and this will thrive. And if at last some storm or blight should fell them, they will but perish in each other's arms.
12/1/2007 The True Miracle
Anyone else ...
Would have died in a miscarriage on the hard road to Bethlehem ... Would have perished of disease, being born in a public stable ... Would have been among the countless infants who were slaughtered in Herod's jealous rage ... Would have grown up only to be stoned to death as a heretic for speaking the Truth ... Would have drowned in the storm on the Sea of Galilee ... Would have STAYED dead when crucified.
But not Messiah ...
* * *
'The light shines in the darkness; And the darkness did not overpower it.' (John 1.5)
This year, May you discover the true miracle of Christmas.
His name is Jesus.
* * *
VEILED IN FLESH, THE GODHEAD SEE. HAIL THE INCARNATE DEITY!
(Copyright © 1985, 2007 by Edward Waters)
[See also 'The Christmas Spirit' -- Edward's short essay on celebration and wonder in the Season of the Incarnation] 8/11/2007 Springs Eternal
Pandora's Prize ['. . . Hope. It was the only good the casket had held
5/26/2007 In Pools of Depths Unguessed
Changeling
3/18/2007 Endless Seas
Ecclesiastes 3.11
12/1/2006 Strange Rumours
A band of common labourers A handful of outsiders A man near death An aged widow The mighty, the influential, the arrogant, the proud As the Master of the Universe * * * 'God has chosen Wishing you this Christmas * * * HE MAKES THE NATIONS PROVE (Copyright © 1994, 2006 by Edward Waters) 9/2/2006 Hear ye! Hear ye!EDWARD WATERS
'Bard of the Grey Wind' IN CONCERT Friday, 15th September 2006, 7.30 p.m. 3206 Ardoch Court, Greensboro, North Carolina This concert will be in a private home. It is free and open to the public, but space is limited; so out of consideration for the hosts and their efforts to plan effectively, please e-mail (4dharrisons@triad.rr.com) to let them know you plan to attend.
8/5/2006 When Saner Men Would Cease
Wisdom
7/20/2006 All too often, we know exactly what we're doing.
By Edward Waters
7/8/2006 Sturdy walls hold well against both enemy and friend. 6/17/2006 We look to what we can see to prove what we cannot.
Apology
5/7/2006 When You Know How to Be Still ...
Epiphanies
A Song by Edward Waters
(Copyright © September 1995)
There are whispers in the trees. There is laughter in the stream.
There are stars that course the night. There's a story told in every dream.
There is Truth and there are lies: Both may wear the same disguise.
Blessed is he whose heart is pure. He alone will see and know for sure.
There are things you only hear when you know how to be still.
There are things that you can do only when you lay aside your will.
Sometimes you can only pray when you've nothing left to say.
He receives who understands and reaches out with empty hands.
There are moments wrought of grace when from this troubled sleep we stir
And dimly glimpse the Waking World, then close our eyes again, secure.
There is healing for the pain. There is joy for the grief.
For the weariness there's rest. For the burden there is relief.
But sometimes you can only pray when you've nothing left to say.
He receives who understands and reaches out with empty hands.
There are moments wrought of grace when from this troubled sleep we stir
And dimly glimpse the Waking World, then close our eyes again, secure.
There is healing for the pain. There is joy for the grief.
For the weariness there's rest. And for all our burdens ...
there is relief.
4/29/2006 There Is Something MoreA World More Worthy
A Song by Edward Waters (Copyright © November 1994) In the morning's early hours, taking solace in my tea,
I gaze out of my window and I'm lost in reverie. And though the warming daylight gathers and the shadows thaw, It seems that my own night will not withdraw. Where is the light I need To dawn inside of me? For I've work to be done and errands to run And the hope of my rest when all is through. Yet I sense in even these common things A deeper truth. I stand on a mountain where the world seems to end, And I watch a hawk above me as he rides on the wind. And though my mind says he's hunting, with his keen and distant sight, My heart knows he's just revelling in flight! Where is the wind I need To lift me off my weary feet? From the day of my birth I am bound to the earth, To the ground which receives me when I die. Yet, in scorn of reason, I am sure I was made to fly! Who has not looked in the glass and, for an instant, seemed to see Beyond himself a world more worthy to be called 'reality'? In our intellect and hubris, we deny or we ignore The relentless whisper in our hearts that there is something more. Could it be we live with shadows cast upon our field of sight By the truer things that stand within the light? Though these shapes are all I've known, They awake in me a yearning for home. Call it only a dream, but this same poignant theme Has haunted hearts since the first poet's song, Like a lingering memory of the realm Where we belong. 4/23/2006 Safe PlaceTHE LOST CHILD
That was where he first saw her, climbing out of the rusty metal vault, her arms full of rotting scraps. When he started toward her she dropped everything, fled to her box, and hid as best she could in the shadows of its recess. The man followed, but stopped a few yards away. All he could see were her bony toes and ankles, and her huge eyes as they caught what dim light the alley allowed. He tried to speak to her, but she only began shaking with terror. So he left. He returned a short while later, however, with real food and several blankets. The child still would not come out, but the man set his gifts on the ground and left once more. The next day he was back and noted with satisfaction that the food had been eaten and the blankets taken. He had brought more food, which he set down as before. He stayed only briefly, but he did say a few words of greeting in a kind voice, and this time the girl did not shake. She remained in her box, but she simply watched him in silence. This went on for more than a week before the man earned some show of confidence. Eventually, however, the child began to come out and take away the food while he was still present, as long as he kept a safe distance. He always spoke to her, and though she never answered, she seemed to understand something of what he said. After two weeks she would even eat the food where he laid it, and allow him to talk at greater length while she crammed whole handfuls into her mouth. He told her stories, about what he did for a living, the places he had been, and the wonders he had seen. And sometimes a look would come into her eyes, as if for the first time her imagination was beginning to venture beyond the dirty brick walls surrounding her. By the third week, he would see her at the mouth of the alley waiting for him. As he approached she always retreated into the dark passage, but when he rounded the corner she would be standing before her box expectantly. And now, though obviously cautious, she would take the plate from his hands. Then one day, as she ate, he began to tell her a different kind of story. He said that he was her father -- that, when she was so young she could barely walk, she had been kidnapped. A ransom had been demanded and paid, but she was not returned. Eventually the kidnappers were caught and punished, but by then the child was no longer with them, though they insisted she had been alive when they last saw her. Ever since, the father had searched for his lost child, following every trace of a lead until, after years, he had come to this alley. And now that he had found her, he was ready to take her away and give her a new life -- one where she would have a home with a real roof overhead, and a warm bed to sleep in; where she would have plenty to eat, and always be loved. But as the man spoke, the child's eyes grew wide with fear. Suddenly she dropped the food and scurried back into her box. She grabbed up the blankets and threw them out onto the ground; then huddled in the corner, trembling violently. Now nothing he said could calm her. She could not comprehend a real home or a warm bed, plenty of food or being loved. What she did understand was that this stranger wanted to take her away from everything familiar. As pitiful as it was, this world was her idea of safety. She preferred what she knew over his unbelievable promises. 4/15/2006 When the End Itself is Ended...
Beyond Entropy By Edward Waters
4/9/2006 What Vision Means
Irony
A Song by Edward Waters
(Copyright © August 1994)
How often we are weakened by our struggle to be strong.
We fly the straightest arrows, but we choose our target wrong.
We fight for independence, but then we bow to its command
And we’re only free of the allies we have driven from our land.
We analyze the darkness so to understand the night,
And we think ourselves mature when we no longer seek the light.
We bury what is real and in its stead we raise a ghost,
And this lifeless shell hiding inner hell is the thing we cherish most!
It’s bitter irony, the living on this earth
Where utter folly can seem wise.
There’ll be no peace until the soul has felt its worth
And we can see with clearer eyes.
For the sky above is higher than we dare to comprehend,
And there’s more to real maturity than seeing childhood end.
We’ve a wealth of information, but a poverty of truth;
It can weigh us down until we drown in the fountain of our youth.
It’s bitter irony, the living on this earth
Where utter folly can seem wise.
There’ll be no peace until the soul has felt its worth
And we can see with clearer eyes.
A portrait is not done when canvas meets with oil.
A race is run until there’s victory for the toil.
And we must not confine our sight to what we’ve seen;
We’ve yet to glimpse what vision means!
In our infancy we’re nurtured, then we learn to stand alone;
But till we transcend the strength of both, we have not truly grown.
There’s a time to ride the current, and a time to plough a course;
And there comes a time to leave the waves and walk upon the shores.
|
|||||||||||