My brother had me memorize a poem for competition in high school. The title: The Hound of Heaven by Francis Thompson. It is a 5 page, 12 point font poem that is not just meaty but at times really hard to understand. I remember reciting over and over the lines, and page after page, I would say these words, not truly grasping the meaning of the noise coming out of my mouth.
However, as I got older, I came to understand what Francis Thompson was saying. And now, I finally actually comprehend his words. "The Hound of Heaven" as Francis explains is this thunderous being that chases after the one who can be considered "everyman." And, whilst "everyman" runs and does all he can to hide himself from this "Hound," the purpose of this poem is to explain this: that no matter the hiding place, or quick the pace he can't hide. We can't hide.
The opening lines, "I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;/ I fled Him down the arches of the years;/ I fled him down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind..." at this day, at this moment...haunt me. Because until yesterday at 1245, I have done nothing but run. I always thought it should take a long time before a drastic change in someone occurred. Well, it has: 29.9 years. I finally stopped running. And, I am exhausted.
This weekend I walked away from a good friend who my heart fell in love with. I walked because my Lover asked me to. I stood before my mirror, staring into my own eyes, tears running down my face, and the words, "whatever it costs" whispered over and over. About a week ago, as I drove to work, I tried physically to utter the prayer of surrender, but I couldn't. Looking at myself in the mirror, I finally did.
Now, after uttering the words, "I fled him..." All I can say is, "Naked I wait Thy love's uplifted stroke!/ My harness piece by piece Thou has hewn from me,/ And smitten me to my knee;/ I am defenseless utterly." Because I feel completely naked. I feel completely vulnerable, and yet not irreparable.
December 15th was the day that Z ripped me apart, and for a solid week I was a mess. I was, at that moment, irreparable, but as I said my last goodbye, on May 3rd, to the one my heart desired most, I felt oddly resolved, or resigned. Or, perhaps just done. This time I wasn't going to pretend that it was okay. I wasn't going to pretend that I was okay. So, I chose to walk. And even though my body is hurt and my heart is sore, I am not irreparable. I think God wants me naked and that scares the shit out of me.
Thompson ends the poem with the Hound reprimanding the chased, at first, quite harshly but then oh so lovingly:
However, as I got older, I came to understand what Francis Thompson was saying. And now, I finally actually comprehend his words. "The Hound of Heaven" as Francis explains is this thunderous being that chases after the one who can be considered "everyman." And, whilst "everyman" runs and does all he can to hide himself from this "Hound," the purpose of this poem is to explain this: that no matter the hiding place, or quick the pace he can't hide. We can't hide.
The opening lines, "I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;/ I fled Him down the arches of the years;/ I fled him down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind..." at this day, at this moment...haunt me. Because until yesterday at 1245, I have done nothing but run. I always thought it should take a long time before a drastic change in someone occurred. Well, it has: 29.9 years. I finally stopped running. And, I am exhausted.
This weekend I walked away from a good friend who my heart fell in love with. I walked because my Lover asked me to. I stood before my mirror, staring into my own eyes, tears running down my face, and the words, "whatever it costs" whispered over and over. About a week ago, as I drove to work, I tried physically to utter the prayer of surrender, but I couldn't. Looking at myself in the mirror, I finally did.
Now, after uttering the words, "I fled him..." All I can say is, "Naked I wait Thy love's uplifted stroke!/ My harness piece by piece Thou has hewn from me,/ And smitten me to my knee;/ I am defenseless utterly." Because I feel completely naked. I feel completely vulnerable, and yet not irreparable.
December 15th was the day that Z ripped me apart, and for a solid week I was a mess. I was, at that moment, irreparable, but as I said my last goodbye, on May 3rd, to the one my heart desired most, I felt oddly resolved, or resigned. Or, perhaps just done. This time I wasn't going to pretend that it was okay. I wasn't going to pretend that I was okay. So, I chose to walk. And even though my body is hurt and my heart is sore, I am not irreparable. I think God wants me naked and that scares the shit out of me.
Thompson ends the poem with the Hound reprimanding the chased, at first, quite harshly but then oh so lovingly:
"Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me!/ Strange, piteous, futile thing!...All which I took from thee I did but take,/ Not for they harms,/ But just that though might'st seek it in My arms...Rise, clasp My hand, and come!"
I don't know if I have enough energy to get up just yet. However, I am going to try my damndest to just be, in this moment, as naked as possible, without reaching for security.
**if you wish to read this poem, please do. http://www.umilta.net/hound.html
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