Pure Passion

Held in the midst of times’ momentary hiccup, skin flushes then rejoices with an honourable language of its own intent and purpose. Bodies steeped in the wisdom of exactly what the silence of the moment calls for. Witnessed amid the windows of the soul, all fired up in the same rate of exchange, solely imparting hegemony one to the other, with pure passion and an absolute surrender.

The Embrace
When you stumble suddenly

into his full embrace,

he hides away so not to see

his creature face to face.

Your yourself are hidden too

with all your sins of state;

there is no king to pardon you;

his mercy is more intimate

He does not stand before you,

he does not dwell within;

this passion has no point of view,

it is the heart of everything.

There is no hill to see this from.

You share one body now

with the serpent you forbid,

and with the dove that you allow.

The imitations of his love

he suffers patiently,

until you can be born with him

some hopeless night in Galilee;

until you lose your pride in him,

until your faith objective fails,

until you stretch your arms so wide

you do not need these Roman nails.

Idolators on every side,

they make an object of the Lord.

They hang him on a cross so high

that you must ever move toward.

They bid you cast the world aside

and hurl your prayers at him.

Then the idol-makers dance all night

upon your suffering.

But when you rise from his embrace

I trust you will be strong and free

and tell no tales about his face,

and praise Creation joyously.

– Leonard Cohen