Saturday, January 28th 2017
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To bear them, and to wield them! The beams of love comprise the living gaze of God. They are the love, joy, peace, and quickening endlessly poured out for all mankind from His generous cup. The tongues of fire above their heads at Pentecost were these beams hardening into fixed points. When we were little ones in the faith, we had to guard our little lights from the terror of the night and the arrows which flew by day. We had hearts of stone becoming hearts of flesh, suffering the new innervations as blood bloomed and blush rose. Around us the holy seal of chrism was formed, brand new. We shone only for ourselves then, if at all. With every flicker, we despaired. These were not yet the beams of love we bore but our humble pledge. We were little ones, and it pained us to hold the candle with our fleshy hands. Now, we drink from the fountain of life in maturity.
Links:
"The Little Black Boy" by William Blake
"And we are put on earth a little space / That we may learn to bear the beams of love ..."
~from "The Black Boy" by William Blake
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To bear them, and to wield them! The beams of love comprise the living gaze of God. They are the love, joy, peace, and quickening endlessly poured out for all mankind from His generous cup. The tongues of fire above their heads at Pentecost were these beams hardening into fixed points. When we were little ones in the faith, we had to guard our little lights from the terror of the night and the arrows which flew by day. We had hearts of stone becoming hearts of flesh, suffering the new innervations as blood bloomed and blush rose. Around us the holy seal of chrism was formed, brand new. We shone only for ourselves then, if at all. With every flicker, we despaired. These were not yet the beams of love we bore but our humble pledge. We were little ones, and it pained us to hold the candle with our fleshy hands. Now, we drink from the fountain of life in maturity.
There is a way that leads to death, and along that road all human beings are equal. Barefoot, unwashed, and delirious with hunger, these are no different than princes of the earth carried aloft on royal palanquins. This is the wide way, the most common route. It is the condemnation to which Sartré referred in his Existentialist philosophy: “Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give [life] a meaning.” The obscene passions, base appetites and restless depravity of humanity are stilled not even by physical death-- the living take up where the dead leave off. I ask you, is the obsession with total equality of all people, in every way imaginable, anything but self-imposed damnation? Measurable equality depends on a universally accepted metric.
One ring to rule them all.
Links:
"The Little Black Boy" by William Blake
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