"fresh forms and strange fire..."

"When desire leads me astray
When all that's pure seems lost in gray,
When sin attracts like gravity,
I pray for humility.

When human pride fights for its way,
Self-justified, I would say,
"Why can't the world live righteously?"
Then I pray for humility.

For this is all my God requires.
She is the Cause that inspires
Me to live unselfishly,
In childlike humility."
- Susan Mack

I love The Solo Committee's recording of "Humility" and have found myself singing it this weekend as I've  pondered Mary Baker Eddy's statement at the very beginning of Miscellaneous Writings 1883  - 1896:

"Humility is the stepping-stone to a higher recognition of Deity.
The mounting sense gathers fresh forms and strange fire
from the ashes of dissolving self, and drops the world."

This is the poem that gave birth to itself in the space of that pondering...not sure what it wants to say...but here it is:

But
I am  a
prince of Egypt
the son of
Pharaoh
what am I doing here
in the desert with
sheep and
goats
a nursemaid to lambs
hiding from
myself
in the caves and
crevices of a mountain
like a wayward
boy
afraid to be a man...

No, I have brought you here
to find
strange fires and
fresh forms
to singe the memory of royal
privilege from your brow
I will pour the warmth of
your mother's prayers and
the memory of a sister's tears...as sweet as the
Nile's song...over you to melt the
gold signet
from your heavy hand
freeing it to
indulge in the
extravagance of
modest work ...

the flames of the evening fire
are nothing
compared to this
hot ember in your soul
hungering for something
simple and
true

the
insistent
I AM
of unblemished innocence and
an unshaken purpose,
without the
pride and
pomp of
princely power and
the cold grip of an ego that
masters slaves,
but not its
own hot anger and
cool will

when this self
dissolves and
the
forms that
rise from its ashes
are fresh with
forgiveness and
hope and
unbridled promise

you must
take
nothing
with you
that sparkles with
Egypt's riches
but
walk unburdened
with lambs
and sleep beneath
a silent sky

And you will see
the dissolution...
the immolation...
of your 
ego in every
bush that burns with the red of
a changing season,

the rocks that cleave and
weep
will tell your story of
being broken open
so that something fresh and
cleansing could pour forth
its inexhaustible grace on
those thirsty for the truth...

the sea
will sing a ballad of
how wide your arms were spread to
receive your birthright, but
closed tightly to the
pride that pursued you
on your journey out of
privilege...
chariots filled with
achievement,
accomplishment, and acclaim...
an army of conspirators 
pursuing you with 
a vengeance..
afraid that
humility's sweet promise,
might spark a rebellion,
inspire a race
a nation
a people
a child's dream of
freedom

You will find 
home
shelter
refuge
in
places where
ownership is not
a goal
and manna falls
like communion
wafers on the
lips of
widows and babes.

You will see the
outline of
a hidden, holy light
on the branches
of every bush
a burning, guiding light
that
illumines
a bow of beauty on the cloud
while it
smolders
on the sand
like sun through a glass
burning
whatever is self-enflamed with pride
and fustian
leaping and licking at
the
brittle, empty desire to be
seen,
known,
recognized,
noted
celebrated,
admired,
remembered,
remarkable...

if you take its pulsing ember
into your heart,
what will
you choose to
set on fire?
what is it
that you will
let Love's inextinguishable flame
melt
from the cold
iron grasp
of the ego
fist...
always ready
to fight for
its own
life

it is a strange fire
that
leaps into the space of prayer
and
consumes the earth...earthy, while
it never touches the Christ within

it
sets free
all that was captured
in the dross,
the chaff,
the chrysalis of
selfishness and pride...
and when the flame
dies and all that is left are
the hot coals of
Love
it will 
reveal
humility
like a butterfly
stretching from within
to fly
and flutter
and send a shiver
a stirring
a quivering pulse of
song through
the air
beyond the things of time
and space
high
above the savannah
across a prairie
along the China wall
through a river's gorge
to rustle the dry leaves of
a thorn tree,
to move the
gentle hand of a woman
keening beside
a child
hot, tired, small, and 
hungry from
the rains that never come
and the crop that never grows...
it will touch her like a memory
a soft fluttering...
a breeze
that wakes
a white-winged angel thought
"the unseen breath of Spirit is here"
and then she remembers
"ahh..it is the unseen that moves the grasses"
and hope revives
and
the child
shudders
at the touch of her love
fearless and sure
and the certain
fire
of
life
strange and silent
now flickers and flames and
burns
anew in
a mother's heart
where
humble hopes
are enough
to
face the dawn
in a village
where
goats and lambs
sleep with widows and
infants
and
bushes burn
but
are not consumed
by the
African sun,
but
bear
peppers
to sell and coffee
to roast and
corn to
place on a child's
tongue ...
the eucharist
of humility...

"...put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place
whereon thou standest, is holy ground..."

offered with Love,
Kate
Kate Robertson, CS

[photo credit: Ashley Bay 2009]

The Solo Committee: Carey Loomis, Sue Loomis, Susan Mack