L i· s · t· · e · · n

Is this whisper in my ear
Jesus Christ of Nazareth?
Or any semblance of
The Word He is, made flesh?
In the beginning He was,
But He did not sound like this.
And has not spoken such ways since.

“What do You say about me?”
For what I am thinking about
Myself, this judge condemns
To misery, from mistakes–
I stop and ask the wind,
Moving as He says the Spirit moves
Where it is going, no one knows
But by its fruit.

“What do You say about me?”
I ask the snow
And it gobbles up my utterance
My speech
Blanking-out canvas on which He will speak, I hope
And tell me what it’s really all about
The path I tread and do not fail to stumble on–
A bird’s eye view
Or even better, God’s

“What do You say about me?”
I look up, around and down
At the trees
At the roots in the snow covered ground
–Shut the door to the room of inner-compass
Flip its light switch to OFF, turn outward
Enough! of the mirror, self-reflection,
Telling me only truth without solution, tunnel vision–
And look out.

“What do You say about me, Lord?”
And I listen.
At first nuisanced by the whoosh of the cars on the highway in the distance
Telling me I have not escaped the day to day nor frenzy
And I listen.
As I see the trees sway, I count their sighs,
Rolling as a river, in ice
Dead, dry leaves still cling to
Live branches in slumber in January
And I listen.
And the forest is louder than the automobiles.
It sings.
     Where does the wind go?
I follow with my senses
And feel it
The wind, in the rustle of the
Hairs along my cheeks
     its fruit.
I come to know him,
The wind, by his music.
I am in his house, he reminds me
He suffices.
I am not robbed nor deluded.
It all depended on the voice to whom I’d chosen to give
My precious audience
And utmost attention.

So I’ll listen.

“Lord, Lord, what dost Thou sayeth of me?” Earnestly.

“My grace”, He says, “is sufficient for you for my power is made perfect in weakness.”*

And I listen.

the spiritual and material world are not in discord
*2 Corinthians 12:9-11, New International Version


Copyright © 2018 A.M. Wilsonne

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