Yours Truly, Olé

  I believed that the blissful wind Would be an endless ride. To my surprise, a storm raged out of the orange, Holding me by a silence. Oh, he lied, I was quick to claim— I never thought of him as a liar, Till this unexpected storm befell me. I sat in awe, bewildered by that Which was encircling me, By what seemed to violate My little boat of peace That he had crafted with his bare hands. He is known to be a carpenter from old, A carpenter whose work Cannot be shattered nor torn apart. I sat and allowed the storm to rage within my mind. Shall I behold the sun’s rays once more? I couldn’t help but wonder. Many say there’s a rainbow At the end of the wash. I’m afraid I no longer believe. I end this with laying myself to sleep, And to my astonishment, He’s laying right there beside me, As he said he would. “Oh, you’ve finally come to rest,” he said. My sweet Jesus never left.

No soul can perceive its own being; None has attained the ability of Perceiving one's self. We simply encounter countless Reflections of whom we seem to be. My eyes have not perceived, neither Shall they attain the capability of Perceiving my own self, As the soul of another perceives whom I am. Does this not give heed to the thought That another is well aware of myself More than I am of myself? He beholds, and I behold not, Nor shall I ever come to behold. Myself I know, and I've met, But myself I have not seen. Oh, that I may behold And see as He does. Oh, that I’d be one With the spirit and mystery of God.