THE DESERTS EDGE

THE DESERTS EDGE

There you sit, at the deserts edge! The man of white, with the long white beard; you write on your scroll, with your white feathered pen! This snapshot affixed in my mind! Where have I seen you? In a picture? In a dream? In a vision? Are you a prophet,  my guardian angel?

As a child; in the hospital having my tonsils out, my tongue fell back in my throat – they almost lost me. Was it then we met, you pulling me back together?

As a youngster; when I ran into the street with the scooter, and got hit by the car, was it then we met? Was it you, pulling me back together?

As a teenager; when I fell from the tree, and landed on my head, was it then we met? Was it you pulling me back together?

In my middle age; when I had a severe reaction to penicillin, was it you, pulling me back together?

In my late years, when I had my heart attack, flat-lined, died and was revived, was it you pulling me back together?

So many times, the doorway of death, was there. Was it you at the door, on the path, pulling me back? And if it is you, who guides me, what do you seek of me? For what purpose, or reason do you call? For I have paid close attention, to this very question. Is it, you test my wonderment, my quest for spiritual purity? Was it you, that read me the “threes” from your scroll? And from the scroll you write upon, do you give me this task, to carry on? And if so, is it my name that sits upon it, work unfinished, yet to be done? Or is it, the scroll remains empty, with “three” chances before, to fill it? Time wasted. Time gone. Time slipped away; my life, almost slipped away. A time of nothing to say, or gained. So many scrolls, blank and empty, waiting.

You have covered me with your protection, held me back for further process. You know me, probe me, and teach me, to fill your scrolls. You had my name on your account, for being a printer; I should know how to place letters, and words. So the words that float, fall from above, moves the pen, flourishing in anticipation, embracing the spirit; to inspire; to enrich my heart and soul. I use your gift; to my fullest, to make good use, of what has been given to me. For my journey has been extended, to punctuate a time, of spiritual awareness that had been neglected, long ago. This time of cleansing, a testimony of myself, to prepare my soul for distribution. So, I write my scrolls, until I fill them all; how many, is unclear. You called me; that, is clear enough.

Ironic this is; on Nov. 26, 1993 I purchased a package of 6 dozen pens, 72 in all. For work, I use them, now and then, drawing lines and rules. I thought, how will I use, so many pens? But it was you; who knew. At my place of work, with free time, I use your pens scratching words upon your scrolls. It is here, I write my finest works. The words speak, seeking me out, writing, improving, enriching, as I complete each page. For no one learns the alphabet at once, but learns one letter at a time. So also with me, one word after another, making meaning, resifting, ingesting wisdom, creating the reservoir of my soul. This inner chamber fills with compassion, with spiritual lessons, molding my inter-spirit, refining all within.

You have done your work well. For what I have written, is with reverence and thanksgiving, of all that has ever been given to me. It is now justifiable, that your gift is recognized, as a spiritual presence opened onto me. To fill your scrolls, the work is hard, and the journey long, but I do not get exhausted, pleasing the Lord. For it is He, that I found, and all was necessary, to free the words in my heart, I did not know how to use. For of this journey at the deserts edge; of darkness to light; of emptiness to fulfillment; of loneliness to serenity; of searching and seeking; of sorrow and mercy; of repentance; of love; red roses; the cross; the crown of thorns; Our Blessed Mother Mary; Our Lord Jesus; of all my journey; is compiled on my scrolls. These talking pages, speak of being called, and called upon again.

May these scrolls justify, you calling me back, pulling me back together, that I have done what you have asked, and have purified my soul. When we meet on the path again, deliver my scrolls to the Lord, for I have prepared myself for this day, and I will take your place at the deserts edge, to give you rest.

Robert J. Varrick

rjvarrick@gmail.com