Wednesday, August 1, 2018

Meditating on H.O. Tanner’s L’Annonciation While Waiting on the Tarmac

Trapped on the Philadelphia tarmac,
On my way to Nashville,
I return my mind to the silent salon where I sat in front of
H.O. tanner’s L’Annonciation.

The girl is not frightened,
But merely waits, 
With patience, 
for the cloud of light to speak.
Annunciations are more easily received when they are rapid.

The more difficult visions are the ones developing underneath us, slowly,
Which we must wait upon, uncertain and scared.
But the light is there,
The angel will speak

The annunciation 
Takes place in the space between the light’s appearance and
The light that speaks. 
The girl
On her cot
And I are both breathing
In the suspended seconds between 
The appearance of the angel and her 
Voice
Which will give us
The word
Our divine command
It seems that the only 
Reality this summer has been waiting
Waiting for life to begin,
Waiting for the plane to take off
Waiting for the word which will come from the angel
To do the will of God is to be interrupted by angels.
I am interrupted and left in my state of interruption 
hanging between heaven and earth.               
This is sort of crucifixion too isn’t it?
This extended, terrible drumroll to annunciation:
an offering of self contortion,
a living-into the sole action of self-offering.

An aptly cruel summation of the summer entirely:
To be stymied by forces unknown at the last minute
This is crucifixion—

but I have believed all summer in Resurrection,
and grown to practice it.

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