Blue beginnings. Darkness, silence, a void.
Not quite night.
There moves a spirit as sinister as Eden.
Soon, all hell breaks loose.
The gift says let us eat. She
gives birth to the rest of us.
Slaves have many mothers:
Hawwah, mother of murderers, idolaters, evildoers
of many stripes, stripper of Pandora's jar of clay;
Azura, mystery-priestess marm of Seth;
Emzara, Methusaleh's granddaughter
muse, matriarch of Noah's ark,
keeper of the reptiles, feeder of the sheep;
Spring of Eber, lion of Semitic lingua;
Sarai the barren, dry as the place of her birth;
the second virgin, bearer of Adamic seed,
striker of the serpent's head
brought it to bleed. His
own heel birthed a nation.
Brood of incorporeal loin,
slaves become heirs become priests.
Descendants of yeast.
But do not blame the mothers, for mothers have kings,
and kings have curses.
Malki Tzedek!
That great high priest of hope, the light of Shem,
forebearer to the father of nations,
bringer of bread and wine,
first receiver of tithe, make your offering;
right hand of El-Elyon
wash the feet of Israel's father,
ride out from Salem on your handsome steed,
sing the dirges of war and peace
Eternal of Days, without father or mother,
no beginning nor end, permanent order; rise not!
Rise not to your own self-glory in the day of darkness.
Bluest gloom. War, famine, pestilence
in the land of Egypt. Plagues,
in the land! Sickness, in the land!
Death, in the land! Deliver us.
They expect him. He will come to save them
when they can save themselves,
when the walls of Jericho fall,
when their kings betray them,
when they are taken by their neighbors
and sold for lucre,
when they sacrifice goats and sheep
to false gods, the idols of their harlots,
when they withhold offerings
and seek instead the glory of civil unions,
when they least expect it,
he will come. They expect him,
but they will know him.
And he shall turn water into blood, yes,
and the river shall bring you frogs;
our priest shall lift his rod and turn your dust to lice,
and swarms of flies shall descend upon you, yes,
upon your servants, upon your houses, and upon your people;
your livestock will die of disease, yes,
and you shall fall victim to the boils,
you and your cattle, and Pharaoh cannot save you;
and hail, yes, the hail shall pummel you, shall pound you,
till the rain nearly drowns you;
and there shall be locusts to eat what is left of your trees,
your land, your green remaining green;
and then darkness, for three days, darkness, yes;
and all your firstborn shall be taken from you in the night,
in the darkness of your plagues, yes, and salvation shall come,
shall come to your slaves, come to deliver them out of captivity.
In the womb of civilization
there rises up a voice
in the wilderness
crying out
for the sufferings of oppression.
In the dungeons and the cellars
where the rats play,
where the darkness lives like it's home,
where the damp scent of sex is trafficked,
where money burns in trade for power,
hungry for its own lust, feeding itself with fire,
and where the drugs that kill spill out,
letting themselves be grunged by deceit
and by lies and half-truths
in the name of some god
who can't, who won't, who doesn't
answer prayers …
it is there, there
in the unholy places
of massacres and holocausts,
there where the citizens build walls,
there where masters beat their servants,
where husbands batter wives like butter,
where fathers trample their children
and mothers drown them in rivers,
ah, yes, it is there in the blueness of pitch black
where no one can see but everyone knows,
it is there where the flicker
of an embryo's flame,
where an ember of hope
can shine like a thousand suns,
it is there in the coolness of a stable
where wise men are drawn by the star of night,
there, among the cattle, in the twilight, in the hay,
one young couple and a small swaddling light,
that's where the darkness
shall come to an end,
where the blaze of hope
begins.
