And while millions are inside, watching men dressed in white do whatever it is men inside dressed in white do, a living jelly washes upon a winter beach, it's transparent body magnifying grains of sands beneath it, as it lies dying under the light of our sun.
And because I do not know better, I pick up this tiny blob of life, and gently lay it back in the bay, and maybe utter a tiny prayer, maybe not, since I no longer even know what a prayer sounds like, but I know this much:
The world is large and deep and full of mystery, and if I cannot see this at my feet, I cannot see it anywhere.
Three Wise Men? I'm going with the jellies....
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5 comments:
amen?
Dear Malcolm,
Sure, why not?
Sláinte works, too!
A rare moment when we disagree.
I'm going with the magi, (probably more than three,) more wild than wise in their reckless chase under the canvas of the stars, mixing mystery and God and the incarnation and the earth beneath my feet. Their story resonates with me. Crazy, maybe even maniacal chase, hoping God speaks their language, able to see the divine in a child. Their collective story is too close to mine. Offering their awkward gifts in their belief that transformation is possible.
Jellies are great, too, though.
I almost became a pastor. Can you see, now, why I would have been wrung out to dry? (at least in my conservative, evangelical background)
Dear John,
Not sure it counts as disagreeing--the story of the magi is a wonderful one. I am distracted by the stories at my feet.
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