I Must Not Let Him Pass Me By

I must not let him pass me by

I am weak and the sun is so harsh

The crowds are so pressed, but still I must not

I cannot let him pass me by

My face is pale, my vision blurs

my head is sick and spinning

My hands sweat cold, but I must go on

I cannot let him pass me by

One foot in front of the other I place

one stumbling step at a time

But this is my chance, my only chance

I cannot let Him pass me by

I’m coming close, but the closer I come

the crowds push and throng all the more

They scream and tear me from the path I have set

I cannot let him pass me by

The hands are violent, crude and rough,

they come from every which side

They grab me and push, my strength will give way

I will fall like grass before the scythe

I will meet my end, surely I will

‘neath the feet of this cruel crowd

But as long as I can, I must go on

I cannot let him pass me by.

So long have I been afflicted

so long in this gauntlet of ails

Nothing has worked, if I die here amidst

the embrace of this vulgar crowd

Better than dying alone, my dear

than dying in the bed of regret

I have no other choice, to reach him or try

to not would be death just the same

He’s coming near, I see his face

I see his sweaty brow

Now is my chance, the last of my hope

I need not more than a touch

His hands are too holy for one filthy as I

I do not deserve to hold

His eyes too bright for my darkness

I do not deserve to look

His feet too pure for my mouth to approach

I do not deserve to kiss

But his garment, just the hem that drags on the ground

surely this could not be wrong

As lowly as I am, as despised as disgraced

just the hem, please find in me no fault

For I like that hem, have been dragged in the dust

soiled and threadbare and torn

I am the hem of the garment of the world

so let me now touch what is mine

My hand reaches out, but I am thrown to the ground

and the crowd begins its mad trample

Still my hand reaches, over miles it seems

of bare and hot dusty road

Only the hem, only the hem

as I stretch every bone toward that figure

Hundreds and hundreds of hurried sandals

beat me into the ground

But all that I see is my hand reaching forth

for that hem, for that hem, for that hem!

And then I lay hold, and I wish you could feel it

like a pilgrim who at last sights the shrine

I grasp it with much more than merely my hand

with my heart, with my soul, with my mind

My whole body grasps with all that it has

to that piece of rough woven twine

And then comes the flow, the virtuous flow

a rushing and tingling peace

It sweeps my body like a torrent of strength

burning, cleansing my frame

So strong is this feeling I finally let go

as it sweeps every nerve every vein

From the tip of my hands, to the tip of my feet

I shudder again and again

The tears fill my eyes, and wonder my heart

as I lie still prostrate on the ground

I do not notice the crowd’s eerie hush

and the feet that before me do part,

But soon I’m aware of the presence that stands

and gazes upon me with love

None other knows what between us has passed

save me and the one in my eyes

The people are puzzled as they see him draw near

and stoop before my wounded hands

Slowly and crouching I sit myself up

but carry my head ever low

My eyes wander round the foot trodden sand

ever avoiding his gaze

“Was it you who touched me?” says the gentlest voice

“Yes,” I slowly reply

I don’t know if I’m wrong, I don’t know if I’m right

but this miracle? How can I deny?

“Daughter” he answers and touches my face

And the touch calms my innermost fears

“Your faith has saved you, now go in peace

and may you be every whit whole”

The tears again flow down my bruised beaten face

as it lingers in that tender hand

I kiss it and thank him in sob muffled cries

I pour out my gratitude full heart

And then with a smile as warm as can be

he lifts up himself and he goes,

But his presence within lingers on still

the part of himself left in me

And soon I’m alone, the throng is all gone

alone on the side of the street

Reliving, reliving the magic exchange

that until today touches my life

I cannot explain what happened that day

only that one weak was made whole

One with whose last strength stretched out her hand

and was washed and delivered and redeemed

I sat for a long time on that street’s crumbly edge

before I could make my way home

I stumbled along, this time with relief

like walking through hills in a dream

Oh what a wonder, oh what a miracle,

I found in his hem that blest day

That even the unworthy, the downtrodden, the scorned

can reach for that garb and be saved

And though I returned dirty and bruised

my soul would ever rejoice

In this day that I sought him and reached for that hem

this day that I strove for his grace

I will ever be grateful for his mercy divine

this day he did not pass me by

Breath

Mankind is more than he imagines himself to be

The ancient serpent only lied when he said

Ye shall be as gods

In the word shall

For godhood is entrenched in each spirit

Like the hidden roots of an old tree

What we see is a twisted, frail form

What exists is a vast and encompassing network

Of vitality, senses, powers, knowledge

Man is not who he imagines himself to be

Though most are unaware of this

And blissfully or tragically so

The iceberg conceals its mass under the surface

But how can we know?

How can the eye look upon itself?

How can thought discern thought?

The mind contain the mind?

There was a verse of extraordinary depth

And my master said, explain this verse,

But use only the words of the verse

I could not speak

He said, now pour me some wine,

But see that the wine encompass the glass

He touched my face and said,

Touch my touch

But as soon as I tried, it was gone

He took me to where the roses grow

And said, pick me one that both gives fragrance

And smells it

He said, why are you so quiet?

I said, You ask me that which cannot be answered

To some questions, he sighed

Silence is the only honest answer

Some prayers must consist only of breath

And some things can be understood without being explained

Some children will play a game they do not know the rules to

And some will dance without hearing the music

They will make a path without ever having seen a map

And will love even if they never heard the word

We are, my son, far more than we think we are

Our soul is the eagle over the mountains

While the mind trudges through a forest of words

Be silent that a path may be cleared

And the trudging mind may find its way

I said, shall we never know ourselves?

He said, there is a way

For the eye to understand sight

For the rose to understand fragrance

For the wine to encompass the goblet

Tell me Master

I am tired, he said

But he told me

For the soul to understand itself it must look upon God

Meditate upon God and you will understand who you are

But you taught me that God is incomprehensible

So I did, and it is true

And he slept

And for a long time I was quiet

Breathing, just breathing

Bottles of Glass

Just old bottles—green, empty and clinking

But made by investment of hope

Into brave and glorious fleets

Sparkling vessels on oceans of silver

We seal up our thoughts like a crew hand selected

And cast them away with the tide

To cross the sea of separation

The space between one and another

We will see upon whose shore they wash

We will see the lands they discover

If indeed there are others out there—somewhere

Or if the world is just a big empty place

And if they should lose course or never alight

On that legendary land called ‘another’

At least the sea... she will know who we were

And that we, at one time, were here