Last night, a good collection of people gathered in an Ozark living room. Friends (old and new) from Portland gathered with us. We shared hard truths about the failings of community, about the successes, too. We prayed a little, broke some bread, engaged in a little intinction. There were some good songs sung (don't people always gather around a good bard with a travel guitar?). This morning, I woke up and caught this poem by the tail.
On the Occasion of Communion (Gather You Fires, Part III)
The word of our testimonies reads like fiery scripture from manuscripts buried, could be scripture, like prophets and housewives are scripture.
Gather you scriptures, fires in the feast of living-- take, eat in the collective, starved as it gathers, thirsty it gathers, together in need, we are.
We were made to lament the thirst of addiction, to steel the legs of the fainting, to celebrate adoptions of sons, adoptions of daughters, to be adoptions to each other.
Scripture unspoken, we once floated away like clouds on winds blowing east, past needs, past Appalachians, from sea to shining sea.
Clouds were made to rain; scripture was made to be spoken, made to carry fire; we were made to both rain and be spoken, to be fire carried.
Gather you scriptures best, awake in the collective-- together with bread, sober with wine, come feast and find that you are; Spirit one to another, rain one to another, fire carriers you are. Gather best tonight-- Awake! Awake!-- and find that you are still a brilliant, revealed constellation.