As the apple of red was tasted
A veil spread across the soul’s eyes.
Overcome by the sweetness
The world beyond was viewed
As through a cloud.
More sweetness, more color craved,
Until cloud so thickened
Only wafting shadows were seen,
Leading mind to conclude
Nothing more was there.
Only delights and sufferings
And shadows seemed sure.
Faith ebbing, love too, till
Truth-hunger’s madness brought violence,
Life-threatening wounds to the World.
But within cloud-gazer-souls’
Abyssal dark depths
A last living ember
Flickers for those able
To feel into deep stillness.
Once sensed, this soft Hope,
This final force for future,
Itself enlivens, begins musing anew.
By mystery Mary rises opening as pure pod,
Enclosing mystery-conceived seed-Word.
“Hope is last to die,”
Says a Russian proverb.
In those where its embers still glow
Life-support, gentle fanning, tending are needed
That germ of Word leaf out and up.
Tending it ever so carefully
Till born Word rends cloud-veil
And world, now known Abode of God
Swings doors open welcoming home
All who in hope knock, and knock and knock.
by Rev. Peter Skaller December 11, 2011