On the day
when you are wearing
your certainty
like a cloak
and your sureness
goes before you
like a shield
or like a sword,
may the sound
of God’s name
spill from your lips
as you have never
heard it before.
May your knowing
be undone.
May mystery
confound your
understanding.
May the Divine
rain down
in strange syllables
yet with
an ancient familiarity,
a knowing borne
in the blood,
the ear,
the tongue,
bringing the clarity
that comes
not in stone
or in steel
but in fire,
in flame.
May there come
one searing word:
enough to bare you
to the bone,
enough to set
your heart ablaze,
enough to make you
whole again.
Jan L. Richardson
