By Caroline Mosey
Could our Savior
be inside us
and above us,
all the same?
If He’s anything,
He’s with us.
It’s embedded
in His name.
But He’s more
than simply with us;
He is buried in our chest.
He’s our brightest part--
our purest heart,
the rhythm
of our breath.
He’s the radiance of Zion
Scattered wide
across the sea.
Every piece of Him
a diamond
hidden in humanity.
Now to Him
who buries diamonds
and who writes The Symphony--
To Him who weaves
the thread of glory
into you and me.
To Him who spins the gold
inside the castle
of the soul.
To Him who scatters pieces
of a most
exquisite Whole.
We hear the call
you’ve issued
and we’ve heard
the Voice Divine.
You are my Diamond-Planter,
but my diamond
isn’t mine.
It’s part of something greater,
something bigger you’ve designed,
refracting all the colors
of a realm we’ve yet to find.
The realm the prophets spoke of
and the Witness Cloud professed.
The one we can’t see
with our eyes
but burns inside
our chest.
The realm we’re trained to fight into
and feel compelled to step into
and know that we were born to do
our part to make it real.
This man,
he gets the clearest eyes
and uses them to see
what’s wrong, what’s right,
what’s left, what’s right
and now
he’s telling me.
You, Sir,
you hear words differently.
Your hearing’s
not like ours.
Could you translate
to our table
from the Language of the Stars?
That woman’sfeeling premonitions
stronger than we could.
So my destiny,
relay to me,
And point me
at the Good.
The diamond in that little girl
is heavy with her faith,
an anchor in the wavering
the rest of us will face.
And you,
you’ve got the static
in your hands we need tonight.
Your diamond
holds the healing
from the One
who makes things right.
But there’s dirt
on top of diamonds
and we think
they’re ours to keep.
Then wonder why
the Brotherhood
stays limping,
incomplete.
We hold our diamonds tighter,
all our knuckles
turning white.
Or we never dig
to find them
and expose them
to the light.
Our restlessness increases
When our gifts
are left obscured.
They stagnate
til we’re sick
But I’ve heard diamonds
are the cure.
Encapsulating light and magic
Gold
and green
and blue.
The rock that
sharpens steel
And pulls the Kingdom
into view.
So pick your shovels
up and dig
until you hit the Truth.
‘Cause what you find in there
might be meant
more for me
than you.
Then we’ll raise
our glasses higher
to the Wholeness
found above--
To our Reconnector,
Gem Collector,
Source of Lasting Love.
To the Slayer of Division
and the Banisher of Shame
To the Alchemist,
the Strategist
who reconstructs The Game.
And we,
as One,
but many,
waxing holier to say,
“I need your light,
and you
need mine.”
The purest Namaste.