Canticles of the Unhomed

In the Heat of Meeting, there is a place of profound silence.
There is within the maelstrom a tranquil eye,
Where none of the Violence of Purpose touches.
And in that place we can encounter the Keeper of the Grove.
In the wild frenzy of fiery Presence, we are lost.
I am unmade under the eye of He Who Is.
There, in the blast furnace of Meeting I am laid bare before the Shaper.
The hot, savage Apartness that is there strips away all to dry bones.
All is known perfectly in that brutal crucible.
At the end of all things we stand alone in the tranquility of the eye.
I am known there.
My name is the silent shout heard in the wild harmonies of Meeting.
My secrets are the riotous tapestry that is laid bare.
I cannot hide from that awful gaze.
Even the hearts of the stones are laid open to the scouring gaze of the Most High King.
We come alone to that place, and there is fear there.
Our undoing awaits us.

A poem of Matt

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