Nicodemus

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.

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