Nicodemus
I am in free fall.
The rabbi’s words made no sense.
Water and spirit
Startling my rebirth?
How do I invoke such a spirit?
Or compose its curriculum?
Unbelievable, like the ass
Standing between Balaam and the angel of death
Like the water flowing from the rock,
Like the manna strewn along the ground,
The wind inflating the dry bones.
Disruptive, making nonsense of Sabbath tradition,
Our purity turned to harshness,
Our social ladders into sawdust
Our Temple, a façade of holiness
The wind blows where it wills, he said.
Portentous, the gates wide open
The dregs of the world streaming through.
Our wedding feasts attended by street people.
Our land of milk and honey, campsite for pilgrims,
Playground of the holy Spirit.
Light embarrasses my midnight path
From the Teacher to the council of elders.
A line was crossed before I knew it.
The wanton Spirit overtook me,
Pushing me into the ineluctable light
Stirring up dormant questions,
Then a whirlwind shook me to the core.