Fire, Oil and Salt 10 1991

Someday we will be wholly free
But these days, even my joy is suffering
For tasting even briefly your company
And being released even shortly in your name
Has turned me cold to the call of the world.

In the epicenter of your presence, what of man?

Now again, I am constrained to be still
To hold my peace; to bide my time
To submit and defer my hope yet again
And for your sake, I will
Because you said, Peace, be still.

And the contrast between the exultation and the waiting
Sharpens to a deadly keen
I know that you are forging me
For there is great heat and light
And then scalding in the brine
Scalding in the foaming unction that so liberally inundates me
Neither can I hear nor see
God, what metal is wrought in me
That I would judge neither by sight nor sound
But by the keening blade within.

Having been found in the holiest place
Now where else can I go?
Can earth sustain this passion?
Can the world endure this keening heart?
Or is it that thou alone art privy to the deep:
Of the salt in my soul
Aye, and yes, it is salt
The salt tear, it is a river to the ocean

With oil and salt they did burn meal unto thee
With fire and oil and salt I burn
Savor unto thee