Well, I know I've just posted sonnet six, but my Internet is working supremely well this morning, so it seems wise for me to upload the final sonnet while I can. We can still comment on either one, but I'd like to get this out before my Internet refuses to cooperate. I've posted pix to some of the earlier sonnets as well, which was my intention from the beginning, but it just wouldn't GO. We need sky pictures to keep us alive here.
Anyway, here is the final "installment" from the Seven Sonnets Through the Dark. I'm almost sad to see this end....
Diliculum
(daybreak)
“In the morning let me know your love for I put my trust in you.” Psalm 143
“For it was you who created my being…
I thank you for the wonder of my being, for the wonders of all your creation…
Lead me in the pat of life eternal.” Psalm 139
At dawn the world is gilded by starfire,
Our Stonehenge just a monumental tomb;
In the dark He has clothed us in festal attire
To await the near arrival of the Groom.
We are creatures of an uncreated God,
Created to reflect the Absolute;
By following the blood-paved path He trod
We allow Him to bring forth in us His fruit.
Living thuribles before Love’s Altar,
Sanctuary lamps before Light’s Throne,
Our love and work an endless radiant psalter;
We carry living Flame in flesh and bone.
We come from Goodness, Mercy our sojourn;
Rescued by Wisdom, to the Father’s Heart we return.
Anyway, here is the final "installment" from the Seven Sonnets Through the Dark. I'm almost sad to see this end....
Diliculum
(daybreak)
“In the morning let me know your love for I put my trust in you.” Psalm 143
“For it was you who created my being…
I thank you for the wonder of my being, for the wonders of all your creation…
Lead me in the pat of life eternal.” Psalm 139
At dawn the world is gilded by starfire,
Our Stonehenge just a monumental tomb;
In the dark He has clothed us in festal attire
To await the near arrival of the Groom.
We are creatures of an uncreated God,
Created to reflect the Absolute;
By following the blood-paved path He trod
We allow Him to bring forth in us His fruit.
Living thuribles before Love’s Altar,
Sanctuary lamps before Light’s Throne,
Our love and work an endless radiant psalter;
We carry living Flame in flesh and bone.
We come from Goodness, Mercy our sojourn;
Rescued by Wisdom, to the Father’s Heart we return.
posted by KathrynTherese at 7:58 AM
7 Comments:
Alas, the Stonehenge goes to the Father faster than I do. And now, to look up "thurible."
Love-ly, hope-filled.. and the pics are almost as exquisite.
More, more, more..
more, more more..
please, please, please..
H
H, I looked it up too, and it was what I thought (a censor, for holding the blessed incense), but I read also that it is from the Greek "thyos", meaning burnt sacrifice. The "thyos" sometimes needs a "thurible"; the burnt offering sometimes needs a vessel. To be a "living thurible" - hasn't kt captured the essence of our whole spiritual journey, our "sojourn" on earth, with two words? We can be not only the living containers of the holy incense whose perfume rises to the Lord, but the actual burnt offering itself; living holocausts, living sacrifices.
St. Faustina often called herself a holocaust to the Lord, and she also said, "The bride must resemble the Bridegroom", who was the holy and perfect Sacrifice. Living thuribles. What else could one become, if one follows "the blood-paved path He trod"?
Seven comes right after six, not a long time after it...It's never too soon for the break of day, and you could never hold back the sun from bursting through the clouds on the horizon. Thank you for this precious gift KT
What stunning imagery throughout the whole sonnet. Oh, to be a sanctuary lamp! To be a radiant psalter!
Beautiful!
Perhaps the closest I'll ever come to being a living thurible or its offering, is in inhaling deeply the incense of past Palm Sundays' ashes, making it go down to the lowest lobe, and then breathing it back out in a temporarily sanctified, ever tongue-tied sigh.
Perhaps that is close enough. It always feels so, at least, so how I rue the great lack of High Mass.
Welcome, Suzanne.
And all you others who are listening in but have yet to comment (Sitemeter tells me you are here), we'd love to hear from you.
Gabrielle's exposition of "thurible" is so helpful to understanding this sonnet, that I think I'll use it to start a new discussion.
In a New York minute - dinner needs my attention.
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