Saturday, March 29, 2008

re-wording

And Wisdom is fighting for her life as the sons and daughters of eternity take their opportunity to vomit up truth, to vomit up beauty, vomit up love, understanding, peace. So that when it comes time to give a parting hug goodbye the ripples of the spinal chord are felt more than the flesh of grace, of creation, of knowledge.
Silence knocks us down on our knees, so we take our opportunity to stand - proud that the body has enough flesh to look good in a bikini, happy to offer a resolve of words: intervention, of confrontation of solution. Action in a time when inaction is weak.
Remember what they said? We were the children of their dreams. Words spoken from above. Words drowning in the noise of foolishness.
Wisdom that is rich in variety gets confused with the noise of conversation. So much that she is holding on by a roll of a dice, and gets lost in the snake eyes of entertainment - to make merry before the final crucifixion. Seeking is easy, but finding requires more than most can afford.
We were born, words of wisdom, words of promise, words of spirit, water, blood; but these words are still, are small, are unrecognizable. When they have achieved what they set out to do, and are called back to The Word, all that will be left is the absence of words - which is not silence, but rather noise.
Noise which allows us to dance to the same thump thump thump - so order, peace, civility can be maintained - trampling out the tribal dance of wisdom. A dance that involves far more than awkwardly bending our knees; one that cannot be learned through reading a book - but is primal, evolutionary but not changing, one that is learnt from an unwavering stare at the chief dancer. Box Wine, Spiced Rum and Coors Lite aid the dance of the noise makers - Her dance can't be aided by externalities, only hindered.
Words of acceptance lit the sky, visions of heaven filled their eyes - teach us The Word, that we may not speak noise. Teach us the Word so that she may be more than a dice roll away from vanishing. Teach us silence, so we may hear the resounding gong for what it is.

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