Infancy Gospel

Your Glories are Your own,
revealed to Your Self Alone;
What steps can I take to be annihilated in You?

Where am I at?
Where is my entity fixed?
In Your mind, Your omniscience:
Somewhere between I Am, and I am not.

I am the color Grey:
A harmony of White, Holy as the Ancient of Days;
And of Black, impoverished toward the Light for which I beg.

One: Alone in transcendence, Independent of the worlds;
You are Unknown, You are not found;
Ain-Nothing, Where?

A Birth, and a Son:
A Father is revealed in His Revelation;
A mystery is reveiled in Its concealing.

A Book sent forth, a scroll unfurled:
We sent it down with Holy lips;
A wind rushing passed, a Herald gone forth:
I prophesy the coming of the Holy Ancient One.

A Birth, a nativity: O Holy Silent Night.
In Bethlehem?
No. In your heart.
Where is He that is born King of the Jews?
For we have seen His star in the east, and are come for to worship Him.

Come and see:
In the former stall for animals,
for the beast nature;
There is no place for Him in the Inn of this world:
It is filled up with lusts, and distractions;
Only in the lowly place have we prepared Him room.

See? we have provided straw and a manger in our lowly stable.

Lay Your blessed Holy head down upon the straw which we provide;
Sleep that deep and Holy sleep,
Your eyes shut as our eyes awake.

I enter into your rest:
let me be your Infancy Gospel.

The Babe cries, uttering forth the vowels of creation;
The Babe awakens, and smiles;
My heart is illumined by His love.

I have wine to drink, and bread to eat:
Will you not join Me in My feast?

I have been depraved, and so deprived I myself in this foolish fast.

Why?
Toward what end has been this pallid languishing?

Toward the night, I saw not the Light as if it were dimly lit:
I said, How can I come in clothes so tattered and torn, smelling of rotted flesh so rancid?

Yet sought I comfort in the brothel,
enticed by the warm red light that shone upon Salome.

What can I give you on this my birthday?
Up to half my kingdom would I give for this dance.

That will not do, nor would it suffice:
that you should pay me only half a price:

This is what I ask, nay, what I demand:
Serve up now the head of the Baptist in your hand.

For all that will do, and only all would suffice:
give me all your soul, all your life,
bound up as it is in the words he preached:
Repent ye, the Kingdom of heaven is at hand.

Do you not know, and can you not see?
This brothel is a church for the damned.
Do they bow?
Do they worship?
O yes, they bow and worship:
These filthy dreamers having eyes full of adultery!

Flee!
Get you out, leave your garment in her hand,
her bloody hand:
This whore shall not drink of your blood from her cup.

He lifted my face to His,
With one kiss He set me free:
His lips drink deep the wine of shame and suffering.

The Bread I give is My flesh, Which I give for the life of the world; This cup I pour is My blood, Shed for the forgiveness of sin.

I am brought to Your banqueting house,
A bountiful feast;
I have become your house of wine:
O taste and see that the Lord is good!

I stumbled out of the house of wine, and staggered into the Night:
Where did I go?
Where will I be found?

Stupified, intoxicated from the wine:
The room spins, swirling round as I take in all colors:
My grey is polished to a reflective plane.

Silent Night, Holy Night:
I emerge as the Light.

Shining forth from the dark:
A Word of all words, letters spanning A to Z;
When I saw Him, I swooned at His feet as dead;
Fear not.
His hand reaffirms me again:
I Am the First and the Last, glad you could join Me in this repast.



Leon Bahrman