The Mysteries of Faith

The Mysteries of Faith

How do we proceed moving forward?
How I sit here, unannounced, unassuming…
Pondering and rethinking…
Is it the way the sun breaks through the branches,
Lighting in speckles, the broken and unbroken beneath its limbs?
Is it the chatter and clatter of children speeding through their memories,
Laughing, crying, clinging to their growing confidence with shouts,
Moments of bravery?
Is it the rain beating into the roots of the growing seed, living each moment,
Rainfall to watering to rainfall to watering?
What is it above the light blue sky pierced with clouds mimicking the faces of
Imagination?
How is this play moving along, 24 hours at a time?
How is this awakening going to change things?
Are the birds hearing me? Are the trees breathing their poetry into the air as they do their Wind dance?
How does this construct of earth exist when the rubble of human suffering continues to cry into the soil?
Does the rainmaker read the soul of the woman who sleeps in his thunder?
Does the machine accept his fate as listener? Does he decide the fate of the wicked?
The ancient ancestries marking the planet with their distinctive nose or their furry brow or their crooked toes or their plump bellies or wide gait continue their quest for existence as they mix and meld, using DNA to map themselves into existence.
How do the tears that form so insistently on the empathetic moments insist on reaction?
Forming in the corners then towards the center, cascading down into the bosom, nestling With perspiration, they settle there, allowing a release necessary and absolute.
I cannot fathom the mysteries of faith. I cannot fathom where I go forward with new knowledge Coursing through my brain in shockwaves.
But I am a sinner. I am imperfect. She is a child. I am a mother like billions of others. Virtue lines the heart but the true self and all its sundries are bared to the earth like open wounds.
Who listens? Who judges? Who throws stones and who asks for forgiveness?
How many injustices to achieve this moment?
On defiant bowed knees I question allegiances and foes. Can God truly see this tale woven in mysterious archives? Who hears this?
For each soul, 10 billion questions that may never receive an answer. The mystery of faith, the quintessential moment of admitting belief over non-belief, that God sees and he hears.
Love. That is it? Love?
Peace. Peace on a ravaged planet where suffering prevails contentment?
Peace. That constant infinite prayer for peace…

He must have heard.

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