Sunday, November 14, 2010
The Hill of Pots
The sand, wind blown, nothing said for thousands of years,
Nothing dead for thousands of years, but the word of Him,
Who was, and is, and will be the sand tomorrow.
How can man ignore this and His dead who are not dead.
Who was once them and continues to be, ever changing like the dunes.
Who comes back from the hill and gives us warmth.
In my simple mind and tangled life I know Him.
But He knows me better, and we laugh together.
The sand changes and is the same. It is here.
It is here and we are the spun powder, moving and changing too.
But all at once, to form and uphold the work of Him.
Broken vessels spill the Word and no one knows.
Why shouldn't we laugh together, the sand and I?
Verily, nothing matters even when the sand spills again and again.
From today and from tomorrow we live on. We die to become Him.
The Hill of Pots is a location of religious historical significance found near Qumran.
Here are the reported oldest remains of the written bible referred to as the Dead Sea Scrolls.