Field of Dreams – Spoken Word

Sometimes the grass below my feet tickles them
Sometimes the nettles sting my ankles.
Sometimes a gentle breeze caresses me
Sometimes a harsh gust chills me to the bone.
Sometimes I skip but often I stumble
Sometimes I rejoice but often I grumble
As I journey through the field of dreams.

Sometimes the warm light of sunshine leads me
Sometimes the cold pale moon is my guide.
Sometimes I can see for centuries
Sometimes I can’t see the next step in front of me
As I journey through the field of dreams.

I see the new ones barely pushing through the soil.
I see the old ones growing strong and tall.
I see the dead ones lying broken on the ground.
Cut off from the source and empty.

Or too full

Of me.

Some bear sweet fruit while others dance with vain blossoms, flaunting their plans and purposes.
As the temperature lows I feel that familiar fear that always touches me around this time.
I know He is coming and I cannot find my fig leaves.
I move myself towards the crops that He planted to draw Him away.
I can still hear the sounds of His sheers from the last time and the fallows of the field still testify of His hand.
The farmer.

The gardener.

The vinedresser.

He has many names but this field belongs to Him.
He bought it long ago.
The curse of my amnesia leads me to build and to plant as I will until He comes.
The winds change
As do the seasons around me
He is here again and He finds my secret crops
I try to deny I planted
I try to make them an offering
I try to tithe them
But He is not fooled
His fierce love is without mercy in the face of that which would grow to hurt me
Uprooting my dreams not rooted in Him, He fertilises the soil.

Why can’t I trust Him?

Jan 27th 2017


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