The Black Faced God
(Poetic Prose)
Poets have called him, “the Black Faced God”, yet daily we receive his pleasures, his blessings, in his creation called earth. Our forefathers have chosen goats, and rams, sea creatures, and astronomical descriptions, all kinds of images, to replace him. In remote and far-off places, some choose devils, some in America stroll about the woods with black robs and hoods, dance with demons with flutes, because God will not show his face—but I heard him in the winds of the Drake (where I went to seek his face—once again), in the echoes of the deep, his footprints I saw in the waves, that reached thirty-feet: in this way he comes mysteriously to meet you, in his own way, there are no limits you see—you must keep faith; how is it I know?
The love of God knows of sorrow—of seeking him; like gulls flying over a ship, across the enormous sea, only when they seek safety, and abandon it, only when they shed their old scandalous lives to live among the language of God, will they see his face.
The winds of Cape Horn hear and whisk the heartbeats the tempo of man’s mindful whispers, like winds turning into a hurricane—off they are taken, from this forsaken mountain, whispers longing to connect with God, sends those whispers to the Lord of Hosts, then to the palm of the Father’s hand, now the bones of God are eager and content, you need only look deep into the face of Jesus, and you will see The Black Face of God.
No: 2856 (10-24-2010)
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