Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Psalm 49

In this psalm we hear Wisdom's voice reminding us that whether we are rich or poor, we all must pass through the gate of physical death. Lynn C. Bauman's translation is beautiful.  This psalm seems particularly touching to me because yesterday I sat and talked with a woman whose husband had recently died.  Her tears overflowed;  I found myself simply saying yes to her sense of loss and grief. What else can one say? 
 
"For the grave claims back our bodies, 
and angels claim our souls, 
But the One with the power of life and death 
claims you always as its own."   
Psalm 49:15-16
Ancient Songs Sung Anew     
  
I received the following poem this morning from Joe Riley's Panhala. I remember no dreams from last night, but I do remember that as I heard the story of a great love, the last word of the conversation was thank you. Again, what else can be said?  

 
   
Last Night
 
Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was a spring breaking out in my heart.
I said, "Along what secret aqueduct are you coming to me 
Oh water, water of a new life that I have never drunk."
 
Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was a beehive here in my heart.
And the golden bees were making white combs
and sweet honey from my old failures.
 
Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was a fiery sun here in my heart.
It was fiery because it gave warmth as if from a hearth
And it was sun because it gave light and brought tears to my eyes.
 
Last night as I was sleeping I dreamt a marvelous illusion
that there was God here in my heart.
God, is my soul asleep?
Have those beehives who labor by night stopped, and 
the water wheel of thought, is it dry?
The cup's empty, wheeling out carrying only shadows?
No!  My soul is not asleep!  My soul is not asleep!
It neither sleeps nor dreams, but watches, its clear eyes open, 
far off things, and listens, and listens
at the shores of the great silence.
It listens at the shores of the great silence.
 
~ Antonio Machado ~  
 


No comments:

Post a Comment