Open hands

I’ve just discovered the Ragamuffin Diva, a blogger with honey and vinegar dripping from her pen as she tells the story of her ongoing spiritual journey.

Here’s a taste:

I know you. I’ve seen your back curved into a question mark with sorrow arching and descending till it plunges straight down into an empty space. An emptiness interrupted by a black circle of pain much too heavy to hold.

I know you, even though I don’t.

I’ve never heard your voice though I’ve lived with it through a thousand winters. Even now I feel it murmuring, a breath flowing through the hollow body of a flute, filling cavernous holes in me with music.

Jesus told me about people like you. Said you were poor in spirit. I thought, once again, who the hell wants to be poor? But because He said it, I pondered it in my heart. He said you were blessed.

Yours is the kingdom of heaven.

Only sometimes heaven takes a really long time to see.

I just wanted to write to say I know you. Even though I don’t. And I’ve always heard you, your voice falling down and covering me like snow on a grave. And I still ponder you in my heart, even though Jesus said you’re blessed. Or maybe because of it.

I’m putting the diva on my blogroll.