Mouths full of ashes

Pale sunlight,

pale the wall.

 

Love moves away,

the light changes.

 

I need more grace

than I thought.

 

Rumi

 

Transfiguration’s light fades.  Theophany-Cloud dissipates like fog.  Uncreated light recedes behind sunlight.  Rocks, shrubs, weeds, hard ground appear less real, and more real.  Bodily aches return, distracting demons just behind consciousness.

 

His face turned toward Jerusalem, we follow by habit, not by any comprehension or concern.  But glancing at the others, I notice that they, too, taste mouthfuls of ashes.

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