Heart Work
Well, here we are Lord, the place I asked to be one day
Long years ago when first I heard through words so clear
Which Nee expressed of “level five” – of loss, not lost
But planted ’neath the soil of all that's been
And ever will be – lost –
Lost as bins and bins of grain – the best
Are poured through chutes and sleeves –
Not dropped but pressed deep in the ground
Till hopper's dry, no seed remains, but all,
All is pressed and folded – tamped into the ground
In rows all measured out quite evenly
Till it's all gone;
The crop is planted;
Then the wait
For rains both early, late –
For shoots,
If shoots
Appear.Lord, will they ever come?
Or was that pouring out of grain, best grain,
All foolishness of faith in life and growth of spring
Just that – a gambling big, on what can never be?But then again there'll be no wait if this first gamble is not made,
The gamble when the chips are all pushed to a central pot
While words declare, “All in”.’Cept this one's made not in a game
Where cleverness, and guess, and reading of the ebb
And flow of luck and chance and
Movement of the odds, if not the gods
Of gaming world – whatever –
Make the bounds,
If bounds they are,
That others lose to
Me, while I
Go on and
Win.But rather,
Lord, it's quite reverse –
The bet's the same – all in –
But outcome rests
Not here on win,
Perhaps some jest-ure
To the gods or God
Of contrite
Generosity –But here –
On total loss to you, my Lord,
Not for some outward gain
But inward – loss, of course, the same.Or is that just the point?
A gain is gain –
If made for that
It does not count?Last time was close –
I did surrender in the end
Not ’cause I wanted to
But ’cause you bid me to –I did – and great returns despite the loss
Of everything I cherished –
Bit by bit
And larger chunks
But lost the same.Lord, somehow this is different –
Not sure just how
But different none-the-less –Like it's a move that takes me where the others dare not tread;
To range of foolishness;
A way in deed
That goes
Beyond
My
Head.To let it go – all go
Not “all” I guess
But rather just the part
Which if reversed,
And it was kept while
All the rest was lost,
It would not count
In all its utmost purity,
For it would be
Reverse of
What now
Is.Not new –
I saw articulated there in
Page on page the detail
You'd laid out with me
As modules piled on pile –
The bits and pieces
Of your journey
Through
Those bleak
Judean
Hills.So strange –
I wanted to go walk that walk,
But that would outward be –
The journey of “ground-truthing”
Is not made (for all)
On lone and level sands
But here –
Here on thefrozen ground
Of coming snow and ice;
Here in the gritt of summer days
Of life as common lived
Despite
Ourselves.And so it comes to this –
The treasure of the merchant-man;
The searcher of the field;
The farmer out to sow
In well-worked soil –
A loss deliberate
Chosen,
Then, is held
In quiet trust
By good
And faithful
Heart.navigation