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Thursday

Black Hole


Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst. [John 6:35]

The soul
Is a hungry thing.
A longing thing.
A crying thing.

It tears itself up
With desire.

We are black holes.
Sucking with the force
Of collapsing stars,
Tearing apart the very
Fabric of reality
With our hunger.

I am an unfinished tune.
A sketch discarded.

An amputee, dreaming the tingle
Of my old arm, only to awaken
To discover it lost, again
Lost again.

I am an ache.
An exquisite meal paired
With the wine of longing.

And this desire
Is breathtaking.
Beautiful. Like stars
In reverse, we are
Beautiful. We are
Final. We are
Dead ends. Death
And awe.

We are each
A road to awe.

If we could only
Follow ourselves
Home.

Now test me.

Look at your own
Gaping chest. See how
This desire persists,
Returns with force,
This black hole heart
Consumes
All that you throw into it,
Like an ancient god
Demanding sacrifice,

Each time,
Until next time,

Each time,
Until next time.

We throw our virgins
Into the volcano.
We heap pleasures
Into the maw.

But the hungry god
Always comes
Roaring back again.

Doesn’t he.

Desire dawning
Yawning like a hole.

The Creator has gifted me
And has gifted you
With a God-sized desire.
A God-sized trench
Right at the core of us.

The negative imprint
Of a finger, pointing
Somewhere.

Desire is the tether
That binds us
To its object.

Follow your desire
To its counterpart.

Follow your dance
To its partner.

And will you dance
For His coming, with all
Your might?
Will you ask for rain?

Begging the skies
For mercy?

We are reduced to this.
If we are honest.

But this song is lovely
To Him. For this song,
Is a brokenness.
A calibration. A setting
Of our feet onto the only road.
A train on a track.

A recognition.

For if the Eternal Beautiful
Is who He says He is,

Utmost beauty, Total Fulfillment,
Pleasures Forevermore,
Extremity of the Breathtaking,
Such that the radiance of His face
Could slay me ...

Then dance we should.
And praise we ought.
And bow we must.
And love we may.

For the creator of chasms
Also fills them, crying,
“Come to me.”

He sends Himself,
His Son, a pill on the tongue
Of earth, a healing remedy.

Jesus Christ in me.
The consummation
Of all God’s love
And plans to fill us.

Infinite answer
To infinite longing.

Desire's appointed
Joy.


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