As the song relates
in my happy-ever-after moments:
I believed in the Israelite.
What a circuitous, tortuous route
this mind has been dragged through,
chained to the runaway horse
called magic, or deception,
along with most of the world,
sore and buffeted
through cyclone and fire,
the machinations of men.
I take on board
the doubts and conjecture —
did such and such ever exist;
yet I have studied the shroud
and the napkin of truth — to me
science and the Spirit are one.
So this year as Advent moves
relentlessly on to that crystallization,
when Sol’s southern tropic is reached,
with the death of the sun,
the incarnation of the Son
and the Word,
switching northward towards Light and hope,
I feel my soul and sinews ignite.
This time, more than any other time,
I believe in the Israelite.
Copyright Francis 2020
