Whether Blind

Today in the brightness of Pentecost's Monday, sacred to the Unearthly Triad, my heart needs to honor my brethren and co-combattants in the unseen warfare, and so again I raise up what should be seen and heard...

Whether Blind
by David Dickens

If I pluck out these eyes, then I’ll not see
Crush the bones of my legs and I’ll not walk
Whether crushed or blind, what do these impair?

Better off blind than hating the sunlight
But better lame than no reason to rise
To a broken heart, they do not compare.

Light a candle, pray vigil through the night
Remember to breathe, cast your eyes ahead
I know no other answer to despair.

And my response to this noetic chant...

I wouldn’t call them beautiful exactly,
but these few lines inscribe my life,
a life that it’s easy to hate;
but then I heard it said to me,
‘the man who hates his life in this world
will keep it for eternal life.’

‘Remember to breathe,’
I tell myself each morning;
‘Cast your eyes ahead,’
that voice within me calls,
and like you, brother,
though I light no candles,
my vigils take the place of sleep.

Lying flat on my face,
no pillow drenched with tears,
I watch for dawn’s hint of light,
and then pray I expire
before the sun rises;
no other answer to despair,
except a kiss whispered in my ear,
‘keep my commandments.’