God’s papyrus

This is something I wrote while I was in my tent this summer, contemplating nature, and leaves, and butterflies.

 

Where do I find?

The writings of old.

Un marred text.

Pure, and true, powerful. Bold.

A writing by God’s own fingers.

Something sublime.

Where do I look, to find a knowing, without the mind endlessly dissecting, and folding.

Who has the scrolls I can unwind.

Who can break the seal, and unravel the lies?

Who knows the words, only the wise would know?

How to find them, where to go?

I wondered these things.

Then a word, a script, came to me, as I thought of nature, and watched the green leaves, unfurl their text.

God’s papyrus, is not so obscure, it’s written in every partial of who you are.

It’s hidden in nature, in bold, and plain sight.

Written in tree rings.

In the star’s brilliant light.

It’s written the things we overlook.

A child’s eyes, a song, a poetry book.

His text is within the quiet heart.

Written in souls, the meek, the lowly, inside---a small spark.

It can be found in the most smallest of creatures.

The glint of the scales of a fish.

And the rainbow’s translucent features.

And if you look close at a small speck of an egg, that grows into a worm, and eats green leaves, and forms a small nook, a cage.

And from that jar, made of leaves.

A cocoon of love.

Read and believe.

See how this caterpillar of minute size.

Digests itself, and dies, and wakes, and becomes alive.

See God’s papyrus written and true, unfurl its own scroll for me and you.

A monarch is made from a weed.

A milk, a worm, a tiny seed.

And in its death of what it knew.

It breathes to life, God’s living words, written in its wings, through, and through.

A scroll everyone can read.

A child, the aged, every language, every creed.

Without a denomination, or a chapel.

This monk is a monarch, preaching from within its own stable.

A ruler without a place to reign, a monarch flies free, without seeking fame.

Read its text, and learn its wisdom.

It lives on flowers, and flies in heaven.

It wears its crown.

See its riches, as it drinks from a flower.

A truth, a resurrection, a power!

So learn from these monarchs of the sky.

Be willing to be transformed.

Be willing to let old forms die.

Be willing to be turned into God’s word.

To be digested into God’s form.

So that when we next meet, you will see, God’s papyrus, his writing, flying, untainted, undying, a monarch something that every eye can learn from, and read.

A flying red flame.

A spirit untamed.

A bible that speaks without saying a single name.