No matter how wet the firewood, how damp the kindling, one word from the glowing prophet and water itself will catch alight around your holy altar! The Lord’s lava flowing from the places where the ground opens up under your unsandalled feet, the cracks ‘neath crucifixion’s fulcrum filling to the brim stone with sulphurous spewing holy raging song that cascades up hills and down dales making a mockery of the highs and lows we spend so much time measuring.
All this time we had the power streaming beneath us, and we did not know. And as the bones of Ba’al’s believers rattle in a bleached latticed path before us, we can walk over molten earth and not be burned, the scorched and scarred lands are not our destination, for we head towards waters of love, even as we have, ourselves, become flame.
© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016
Photo from Pixabay