Sitaram
06-28-2005, 05:18 AM
Earth's crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God;
but only he who sees takes of his shoes. ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I stumbled by chance across these precious lines. Stumbling has its virtue.
The Old Testament story begins with a burning bush which attracts Moses’ attention and inspires him to approach. Only after noticing and approaching is Moses instructed in two matters; first, that the ground on which he stands is holy and, second, that he should take off his shoes.
Elizabeth is reminding us that the miraculous is everywhere, but not everyone recognizes this miracle of omnipresent miracles. There are miracles, and then there is the miracle of miracles. If there are kings, is there a King of kings?
Most of us, who read the words I now write, read them seated in comfort and health, free from fear and hunger. To a starving person, stumbling upon an unexpected morsel of food is a miracle. For the war-torn, a day of cease-fire is a promised land. But amid good fortune and riches you will find many who are impoverished and in prison. Such unfortunates are impoverished because they are glutted in the apathy of indifference and imprisoned by desires which can never be fulfilled simply because they have already been fulfilled many times over. Desire knows no limits. I too write letters from this Birmingham jail.
Wise Rumi said, “Do not seek water, for water is everywhere. Seek thirst, for without thirst, water has no value.”
How may I make you thirsty?
There was once a Protestant preacher who insisted that one of the pleasures in heaven would be to peer down upon the tormented in hell and feel gratitude for not being among them.
Why do heavens require hells? Why do promised lands require persecution, exile and wilderness? Why is abstinence a prerequisite for desire?
Moses was a shepherd. Moses was at work, on the job, tending his flocks. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he notices something most unusual; a bush aflame. Moses turns about. The Greek word for such a turning is “apotrepsis.” We all have our apotreptic moments. Stumbling lends itself to turning. Turning requires noticing and vision but the essence of stumbling is lack of awareness.
A verse in the Psalms says, “O, that I might have wings, like a dove, to fly and be at rest.” How may one both fly and be at rest in the same moment? The wings which overshadow the tabernacle hover in such restive flight, in terrific hiatus, as a crouched tiger springing. Seraphic visions hover in their thrice holy hymn.
Moses abandons his flock and turns toward this wondrous bush of flames, saying, “I must go and see.” Moses is a soldier gone A.W.O.L. (away without leave). Who told Moses he could do such a thing? How far away was that bush, I wonder? How long did Moses leave his flocks unprotected and at the mercy of wild beasts? Moses turns, renounces and forsakes.
Moses is told to take off his shoes, but Moses is not told to notice the bush aflame. No booming voice from heaven thunders and commands “Moses, Moses, turn about and notice me.” We cannot be told to be surprised, for that ruins the surprise. I have a secret, but if I tell you, then it is no longer secret.
I can tell you to take off your shoes. I can tell you that the ground on which you stand is holy. But I cannot tell you to be surprised. Only the unsuspecting can stumble, be surprised and turn.
As Aristotle said, “Philosophy begins in wonder.”
You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink.
I can offer you, the least of the brethren, a cup of water, but I cannot make you thirst. Only salt creates thirst, and I am not the salt of the earth.
Even God thirsts: the final words from the cross, “I thirst.”
For God, existence is the burning bush and we are its tongues of fire. For God, the commonplace and ordinary is miracle enough. In the voice of many waters, we are each one drop. It is our conflagration which quenches God's thirst.
http://toosmallforsupernova.org/page051.htm
but only he who sees takes of his shoes. ~Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I stumbled by chance across these precious lines. Stumbling has its virtue.
The Old Testament story begins with a burning bush which attracts Moses’ attention and inspires him to approach. Only after noticing and approaching is Moses instructed in two matters; first, that the ground on which he stands is holy and, second, that he should take off his shoes.
Elizabeth is reminding us that the miraculous is everywhere, but not everyone recognizes this miracle of omnipresent miracles. There are miracles, and then there is the miracle of miracles. If there are kings, is there a King of kings?
Most of us, who read the words I now write, read them seated in comfort and health, free from fear and hunger. To a starving person, stumbling upon an unexpected morsel of food is a miracle. For the war-torn, a day of cease-fire is a promised land. But amid good fortune and riches you will find many who are impoverished and in prison. Such unfortunates are impoverished because they are glutted in the apathy of indifference and imprisoned by desires which can never be fulfilled simply because they have already been fulfilled many times over. Desire knows no limits. I too write letters from this Birmingham jail.
Wise Rumi said, “Do not seek water, for water is everywhere. Seek thirst, for without thirst, water has no value.”
How may I make you thirsty?
There was once a Protestant preacher who insisted that one of the pleasures in heaven would be to peer down upon the tormented in hell and feel gratitude for not being among them.
Why do heavens require hells? Why do promised lands require persecution, exile and wilderness? Why is abstinence a prerequisite for desire?
Moses was a shepherd. Moses was at work, on the job, tending his flocks. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he notices something most unusual; a bush aflame. Moses turns about. The Greek word for such a turning is “apotrepsis.” We all have our apotreptic moments. Stumbling lends itself to turning. Turning requires noticing and vision but the essence of stumbling is lack of awareness.
A verse in the Psalms says, “O, that I might have wings, like a dove, to fly and be at rest.” How may one both fly and be at rest in the same moment? The wings which overshadow the tabernacle hover in such restive flight, in terrific hiatus, as a crouched tiger springing. Seraphic visions hover in their thrice holy hymn.
Moses abandons his flock and turns toward this wondrous bush of flames, saying, “I must go and see.” Moses is a soldier gone A.W.O.L. (away without leave). Who told Moses he could do such a thing? How far away was that bush, I wonder? How long did Moses leave his flocks unprotected and at the mercy of wild beasts? Moses turns, renounces and forsakes.
Moses is told to take off his shoes, but Moses is not told to notice the bush aflame. No booming voice from heaven thunders and commands “Moses, Moses, turn about and notice me.” We cannot be told to be surprised, for that ruins the surprise. I have a secret, but if I tell you, then it is no longer secret.
I can tell you to take off your shoes. I can tell you that the ground on which you stand is holy. But I cannot tell you to be surprised. Only the unsuspecting can stumble, be surprised and turn.
As Aristotle said, “Philosophy begins in wonder.”
You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink.
I can offer you, the least of the brethren, a cup of water, but I cannot make you thirst. Only salt creates thirst, and I am not the salt of the earth.
Even God thirsts: the final words from the cross, “I thirst.”
For God, existence is the burning bush and we are its tongues of fire. For God, the commonplace and ordinary is miracle enough. In the voice of many waters, we are each one drop. It is our conflagration which quenches God's thirst.
http://toosmallforsupernova.org/page051.htm