Blue
“Speak to the people of Israel, and tell them to make tassels on the corners of their garments throughout their generations, and to put a cord of blue on the tassel of each corner.” Number 15:38
Hallowed hands stitch the silken thread Quietly the master weaver repairs the broken blue His indigo promise now hidden by the lure of the deceit tree The glamoured fruit clouds vision to see his majestic indigo that hugs the thin line in the genesis sign Jewelled indigo sullied with dirt-stained hearts cheapen the blue Purity less dignified, masked filters hide the truth of who, we have become We contaminate the sapphire treasure purposed with care so lovingly seeded deep within The solitary tree stands sentinel, rooted in its own strength The wood bends in honour from the burden of the one he carries Upon his limbs, bloodied see-through palms sew the mercy stitch The needle nails rust from bloody salted tears he weeps for his tarnished blue formed in him, through him, for him Lapis cries out for the gild of the Lamb The broken host bleats in compassion for his treasure The veiled gold vein reflects the bloodied blue spilled from the lance we shield Hardened hearts thirst for the glory to heal the exposed blue The blue blood sovereign king humbly offers cura through the blood of the lamb CURA! CURA! CURA! Imago Dei, now shattered glass mirrors who he formed from the dirt His image bearers hammer the healing hands deep into the humility tree carving both the limb and He, who mends our fractured clay hands Bloodied fists smooth the weaponed shards with fired gold Holy blue stained palms absorb and heal his splattered indigo HOLY! HOLY! HOLY! In brokenness, we still High above the rooted tree, redemption carefully lingers in his rise The canopied sky reflects the resurrected glory now pregnant with the rich indigo that drips down as rained dew magnifying the dust from which we came The risen heart overflows and bursts open with the sacred indigo blood restoring both sky and sea a mirrored reflection of the blue we were created to be Azure blows his kiss from high as the few kneel below And the wisdom of indigo opens vision to see anew the purity of his blue
Blue: the sacred, holy colour
“There they saw the God of Israel. Under his feet there seemed to be a surface of brilliant blue lapis lazuli, as clear as the sky itself.” Exodus 24:10
Cura: latin – to care – Our hearts put effort into who & what we care about. Our effort is where we find cura, our treasure.
“For where our treasure is; there our heart will be also.” Matthew 6:21
Share this:
Fallowed Bones
“Let it rest, and lie fallow.” Exodus 23:11
Parading through the tombs Osteon cries out, “dead man walking!” my stoic step trudges the graveyard path quietly echoing the dormant season of the hallowed dirt Fallow settles white dust blankets the plotted land of dry bones a cocooned season the earth must still Kairos quiets for the fruitfulness to renew the idle land sleeps for the dry bones to ready for the Word Fallow seeps deep into the bones unveiling the shadowed fruit that must be pruned, plowed under to nourish and renew my weary spirit A life’s foundation bulldozed, flattened exposes the rubble and becomes a public spectacle of broken skeletal remains The fallow season is upon and I too must sleep with the earth until his breath waters the dry bones awake that only He can renew I slumber in dreams that long for his breath to resurrect my spirit Kairos returns with the mist of his kiss that gently wakes the fallow His hand steadies as we survey the dormant mess of scattered dry bones that he created, living to house His home I see afresh, the burden of the dry bones so agape deep, I moan under the weight of his love for those he mourns awkwardly, I lift them high to see his love come down I mimic the ass that journeyed the bones from which I came the donkey was birthed a burden bearer I was born to see, but not to bear a gift of vision to point but not to carry home My heart could not hold their footing and buckled under the weight I had forgotten the husbandry yoke needed and collapsed at the dung gate scattering the dry bones He gently maneuvers through the graveyard of dry bones and brings us to the crossroad tree to behold, afresh the marker that gives life to the dry bones He visions me from the lens of his longing and asks, “can these bones live?” “only you know,” I whisper eyes wet, my vision darkly clouds of knowing the words to speak but not to bear He motions to see him bear the burden of the tree to know that he carries more weight than the ass his hands created to carry his own bones home He gives his living marrow in exchange for the dry bones that lie fallow "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani!" He breathes his last I inhale the fragrance of his exhale and drink in his perfumed sweat that moistens the fertility of the parched fruit seeds His naked skeleton resurrects the fallowed dry bones a new sound rattles as the army clumsily rises the fallowed dirt mingles with his spit He gently soothes the manna paste over my eyes to see His Kairos Word I must leave the burden bearing to Him to carry the dry bones home
Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! This is what the Sovereign Lord says to these bones: I will make breath enter you, and you will come to Life. Ezekiel 37:4
So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet – a vast army. Ezekiel 37:10
DEBSATWAR 