Dreaming aloud as the perplexing words
of the strange and mysterious God
dance to their unique rhythms; catapulting
into the prophet’s conscious thoughts and out again.
Words, this time, of hope;
encouraging affirmations of renewal,
with the troubled times retreating into non-memory.
For the once great city there is a promise
of restoration, of joy and delight; and of blessings
that will become for all an invitation to life.
Words of domestic contentment;
people dwelling in the houses they have toiled hard to build,
and granted the greatest of all signs of hope,
the birth of a child.
The words continue their unconstrained dance
singing of enjoyment and satisfaction in old age;
and of planting vineyards
with the expectation of enjoying their fruit.
“You plant grapes for your grandchildren,”
a winegrower once told me.
The words dance crazily
as they tell of wolves and lambs feeding side by side,
and of lions and oxen sharing the same bale of hay.
At this point we know that the dreaming
has taken over from reality,
and that what really counts is the abiding presence
of the God who answers
even before she is called.
© 2010 Ken Rookes
