Sometimes life quakes, unsettling all our ground, even destroying things we thought were safe. This is a reflection for those times. jfig
Fissures
My earth splits and shifts
Gaping at awkward angle as splinters race along the fracture lines.
From aerial view, it might look like arteries
On my heart, if the lines rived in anatomical places.
What will grow in these at-first unnourished places?
What will grow?
Drip, drip, drip – water oozes into the painful space
left by what blade knifing into my hope and expectation?
What will grow?
In what fertile valley shall I plant my next hope, and the next, or next?
How many plantings will it take?
What will grow?
As I let the fissure breathe, moss grows green against the someplace rusted stone.
I can only breathe a few days at a time.
Let it breathe…
Living water trickles, chill lavage
Rearranging mineral deposits
In the rust and stone and green of my heart.
Oh, God, that I could feel the green
And somewhere in a far-off spring, the moss spring forth a gentian bloom
Feel the spring: the water spring… and the growth
The widened fissure breathes. New life. New hope. Altered sculpture of my dream.
Breathe
jfig 2015
Isaiah 30:19-26
Roasted Words 