This is a little Eastery, but I've been trying to contemplate the fullness of what it might mean for a few weeks now, which probably means that it will last a while after Easter, too.
In the pause, where light shades into darkness
and time inhales,
when angels crouch upon the precipice
in electric anticipation, all is still.
Before the moment that strikes and time exhales,
magic and mystery blur reality,
and love and justice and peace
stand, waiting, in the foyer of day's dawning.
Here I sit, as a prophet, once, on a mountain sat,
waiting, wondering how the voice might speak.
Witnessing the whirlwind, earthquake, and fire,
finding they lacked meaning and speech.
Then, a whisper. And light breaks into darkness,
and time exhales and angels leap from their crouchings;
love and justice and peace flow as a might river
and in reply, I pray -
"Cast me as the echo of your whisper."