Mercy has left the tent!
Cherubim gasp!

God is set free!
     Fleeing the temple
     Ripping the veil to shreds in rapid departure
     Eager to call a new home!

God lives here now.
     Not up there.
     Down here.

Not over yonder.
     Right here.

The stranger who walks beside me on the road.
The gardener who tends the daffodils.
The voice that calls from a charcoal fire set on the beach.
The wounds of the faceless.

The wounds stretch out their hands
     Open up their sides
     And show their marks.

“Put your finger here,” the wound says.

If I accept wound’s invitation,
     Will I, like the doubting one, then recognize God?

Then know Mercy?

I am caught between forgetting and knowing.
Knowing desperation and forgetting Fullness.
Knowing loneliness and forgetting Love.
Knowing the false and forgetting the True.
Knowing separation and forgetting Oneness.
Knowing what is visible and forgetting what is Invisible.

If I accept wound’s invitation,
     Will I come to know what I have forgotten?
     And cherubim gasp once more as I am set free?