Talking Loud


detail of painted textile
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My tone in prayer is new.

Louder.

Out loud, even.

I have spared God my true voice for eons, it seems.

And ‘it/She’ want to BE HEARD!

No more ‘mamby-pamby-make-nice’ at the altar.

Pretty flowers and incense and an ordered and lovely display meant to seduce.

No, the back of my throat is raw from sounds and tears and questions and humanness.

No more tucking myself in on the God-front.

I WILL BE HEARD.

Do I think adamance and ferocity will gain entry?

I am interested only in the bedrock of this life-thing.

A life lived cloaked in ermine rather than homespun has lost all ‘elan.

My voice on my knees is close to inhuman, sometimes.

I have gotten to that point very few times but whenever I do, the red carpet just appears and unrolls itself magically before me,

And, in that moment or whenever I reclaim enough strength, I step on.

And IT takes me.

And I am new.

And never look back.

And so very glad for the raw thing I just went through.

But only after it’s done.

And, as surely as I take breath, this deliverance can NEVER, NEVER, NEVER be concocted…

The theater of it must sneak up on me and grab me by the throat and kick me ‘hind my knees,

Until I fall..

At Your feet..

And let You carry what I cannot.

And You always do.

You always do.

You.

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