Sense-less-ness (revised)

Note: Originally posted on January 24, 2018 and, today, revised in commemoration of this Day of Pentecost.

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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

And, instantly,
breathlessly,
I call unto God
praying,
pleading for pardon.

© 2020 PRA

Endnote: Antonio Porchia (1885-1968), Italian born Argentinian poet (his word, my paraphrase)