I have never done this, but think I should,
never tried, but if I could, would
sit in the middle of a glass smooth lake
in kayak or canoe, any vessel will do
and shout, shout out
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Then listen for the echo that knows no bounds.
Listen as if I were out there,
beyond the edge of my own sound,
hearing my anthem back again
to a place that we remember.
We must believe God,
sitting in my writer's room, alone,
every word doomed to fall into its page -
believe the soul's rage, its love
radiates beyond our structure of ideals,
out, where it peals in resonate passion
with another, and another, and another
who shouts in sympathy, Hallelujah!
Is it Christian of me to utter this,
suggest that bliss might be:
sounds a throat can shape
to quake utter silence, shake distant stars?
Am I wrong to revel in taught skin,
singing my chorus into thrumming ether?
Is it sin to shout Hallelujah!
in praise of what I do not know?
We have never done this, but I think we should,
never tried, but if we could, would
sit in the middle of a glass smooth lake
in kayak or canoe, any vessel would do
and shout, shout out
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
This poem reminded Diana of an epiphany she experienced as a child, vacationing at the family cottage on Mara Lake, just outside of Sicamous. One morning she awoke to a perfect calm. She rowed out to the middle of the lake and sat there, under the gigantic sky, atop the still waters. An overwhelming sensation filled her. She felt compelled to offer thanks to the spirit that had created all this - that had brought her to that moment. In grave and earnest thanksgiving, she sacrificed her favorite red sucker, which she hucked as far as she could into the calm, unfathomable waters. The joy of that moment still haunts her, and I believe that to this day God is still savoring that raspberry flavored sweet, cast his way by a devoted child.
ReplyDeleteArtist Betty Spackman emailed the following...
ReplyDeleteMay I respond...
And from the distance and yet so close silence
as shrill throat and taught tongue cry
even the most cacophonous shouts of abandon to the sky
that echoe back on a thousand ripples disturbing the once
glass smooth lake -
a still small voice from God that whispers, to your gift of "Hallelujah!",
"This is no mistake."
By the way, Betty Spackman's installation Found Wanting is now on display at the Penticton Art Gallery. Go to http://gotchah.ca/?page_id=163
ReplyDelete