(Meditation on Isaiah 25-26)

 

I know a brittleness about me

As the pressures from outside long to be within

Brittleness is not weakness; it is not the same

I was born for this atmosphere wherein I know such pressure

I was born brittle and ready for the atmosphere’s enmity for fragility

Made for it even

If there is a fissure within me

It’s a fissure meant to grow

Just because of my brittleness that does not mean I am delicate

I am called and formed to welcome the atmosphere

Just as lungs are made to unconsciously absorb the air reflexively

So too am I meant in heart to fissure with justifiable humility

My shellac meant to crack with inevitability

Each meditation chipping away

Each utterance and intimation

Each song sung voluntarily

All jointly fissuring

In obeisance to the truth about me

The atmosphere for which I’m made to be made prone

An atmosphere of glory directly consuming my chips of vulnerability

Transcending in fullness of physicality to originality

I am made to fissure that I might be made full

Meditation compromises the false sense of security

That I could actually protect my cracked and trembling heart

I must not relent to let You break through

For as You look so I tremble like the mountains high above me

Yet one look accelerates my forming to Your station

The undevestation of solidarity to You

No longer hindered by my hollowness

I meditate upon these words: “to the very dust.”

For the Lord, yes The Lord, is the Rock eternal.