Note: Originally posted on January 24, 2018 and, today, revised in commemoration of this Day of Pentecost.
Daily, I rely (too) much on my sense.
So, that surpassing my physical perceiving is
likely beyond my common knowing;
even, at times, my believing
tho’, surely, not outside my questioning and doubting.
Yet whenever I hear,
in the sudden rush of the wind
(oft voiceless, thus, then only felt and forgotten)
the unmistakable Spirit-melody
that speaks to my soul a word,
à la Pentecost,
proclaimed long ago,
prophetic and true,
made now, made new,
then Porchia’s corrective-counsel, once-again remembered, calls unto me:
Always raise your eyes, lest you think you are the highest point
I call unto God
pleading for pardon.
© 2020 PRA
Endnote: Antonio Porchia (1885-1968), Italian born Argentinian poet (his word, my paraphrase)