I was listening to an old favorite, John Michael Talbot, on the way to the office. He was singing an adapted version of Psalm 95--come worship the Lord; for we are his people, the flock that he shepherds. The words gave rise to the psalm below.
For those of you who have been regulars around here, you know I've taken an extended break. I've been learning to listen a little better; at least, I hope. Maybe I'll share more about that in the coming days. For now, though, enjoy Psalm #14.
Come worship the Lord,
in the way of reflective, not reflexive breath, in the way that counts the all of everything as imagination born, as the objects of the most sobering intoxicant.
For we are his people,
and in that way, we are the all of his everything, the best of wind, and dust, and Word, the image of Images, each.
We were the ancient sages, are the new saints; We are the culmination of the great creative pride, the have been stars, could be stars, and will be stars again.
Bear the notion that we are beautiful, the coming collective of hymns,
the flock that he shepherds.