The Voice
I take a breath and hold it. I cross my arms and shrug gracelessly as the shrill voice on my right rakes the follicles on my neck. I feel my anger rising and the more familiar resentment at listening to a voice not knowing its own neediness. It does not even realize the candle is growing dim as the oxygen lessens. I begin to wonder whether I’m the only cynic listening. Perhaps I have appointed myself the Guardian of Good Graces, and in my silent protest hold back some important mystery. This piercing voice, desires deeply to connect and seems so desperate for any help. As the divine conjures my patience I begin to feel my own bleeding heart. Slowly I recognize the voice of God and my heart begins to open.
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- Second Communion · September 4‹ The ChildEven if I Knew ›