Transformation never comes expected;
there isn't a prepackaged, order it on QVC
formula or a how-to self help book
that can do what I have been through.
The sand storms in the desert strip me,
rolling around me like a tornado of tiny knives
cutting into the self-created reality
that is actually only self-deceived illusion,
but oh how the heart is so self deceiving -
loves that are losses that when revealed
were only lusts, and deaths that were mourned
were actually new life emerging from the shadows -
the sand swirls and settles and forms its own Via Dolorosa
and I can see the shadow long cast by the blazing sun,
rising high in the noon sky, the dry sky mirroring
the dry desert the dry heart the dry being walking
past skeletons of beasts and demons revealed in the light,
buried in the shadows of too long settled dust
shaken up by this wilderness wind. And when I wipe the
sand from my eyes bleeding tears I can see
that what casts the shadow casts the mystery
of what must be the death of me,
for true transformation comes when deliverance
opens the gate into wilderness and wilderness reveals Golgotha.
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