There are times when I experience God in a raging storm. Like one of the mighty willow trees I pass on the way to work. Here in the midst of the storm I stand with my back pressed back against the ancient trunk. With the fury battering around me I am reminded that the base of the tree is solid, has my back, and although not totally sheltering me, gives me enough support to be able to face, to endure, the storm that whips around me. It gives me a place with which to look out at the fury with new eyes.
Such images at times of stress hold me in what ever is going around and at times pull me back. There is also crucifixion here I am after all standing against a tree.
Sounds all very poetic, very Byronesque (note to self: develop tubercular like symptoms, practice swooning and acquire large silk white hanky for maximum effect). In reality it is often a lot messier and takes me a lot longer to remember that God is in the darkest night, in the cruel lesson and the raw… not just the sweetness of light.
Such images I am reminded of today when I came across this.
Beseeching the Stone
She had waited as women for a thousand years had waited at the Rock.
Wind slapped, hand warn, sea-spray-salty to the tongue.
Driven by calling rather than design.
Most often the migration fell to the soulless night.
Creeping out of weathered shelters along cliff top tracks huddling into crevices,
Before a porcelain dawn they came,
fell to their knees and pressing themselves against the rock - beseeched the stone.
Lips scuffing against lichen – in familiar manic tomes whispering,
staining the granite blood brown with the thumping of hard heads.
“Rock what am I to do?”
“Rock how may I serve you?”
“Rock how long must I be Grey?”
“Rock is there room for colours beyond just you?”
“Rock how can I ever be enough for one as ageless as you?”
“Rock how am I to be all I can be for you?”
“Rock tell me what you want for me?”
“Rock sweet Rock tell me what to do”
“Rock I came back to you!”
“Rock I danced for You- did you see?”
and the Rock sitting with only the top peaking out of the earth in the stillness of an in-drawn breath asks back the same question.