I've taken to writing my own psalms on Mondays. I would love for you to read along, and consider writing your own. If you pen a psalm, let me know in the comments below and provide a link where I can find your work. For the last two years, I have made it my practice to begin the morning with reading the biblical Psalms. I begin with the date on the calendar, and read the corresponding Psalm. (For instance, today is the second day of September, so I read Psalm 2.) I then add 30, 60, 90, and 120 to the date, and read those Psalms. (For instance, today I read Psalm 2, 32, 62, 92, and 122.)
Today's lead Psalm (Psalm 2), begins with the following:
Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain? The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the Lord and against his Anointed...
It seems that things haven't changed much in the years since this one was written, eh? There are warships in the Mediterranean. Nation has turned against nation, and the leaders of the world are again plotting in vain. This being the case, I thought I might pen a psalm in the tradition of Psalm 2.
If I might impose; allow me to to suggest a reinstatement, a return, a coming like the splitting of another veil, the fission of this present from the eternal Real, so that men might tremble in the memory of their once Edenic selves.
Could there be a quickening return of the Immediate Dramatic, a natural transfiguration of clouds, from mist to Face, a thundering rising from the earth's bowells, ozone steaming, rising upwards like asphalt incense?
Were I so bold, might I request a trumpet, a white horse, an inimitable, fierce army of the once low, poor saints? Might the air be filled with all that Is, so that those who would breathe life are filled with life, and those who breathe death drink only dread?
On the mountain called expectation do the suffering poor wait for the terrifying, Vehement Beautiful.
In the deserts of war do the greater men fill their mouths with the orders of bones.