1
Your glories are your own,
revealed to yourself alone;
what must I do to be annihilated in you?
Where am I?
Where is this entity fixed? In your mind, your omniscient mind:
Somewhere between I, and I am not.
I am the color grey:
A harmony of white and black;
Holy as the Ancient of Days,
yet impoverished of the light for which I beg.
2
One.
Alone in transcendence, Independent of the worlds;
You are unknown, you are not found…
Where?
A birth, a Son;
A Father is revealed in His begetting;
A mystery is re-veiled in its birthing.
A book sent forth, a scroll unfurled:
We sent it down with holy lips;
A wind rushing passed, a herald gone forth:
I prophesy the coming of the Holy Ancient One!
3
A birth, a nativity:
O Silent Night.
Where is he that is born King of the Jews?
For we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him.
Come and see:
In the stall for animals,
wherein the beast-nature lay;
There was no place for him in this world’s inn.
See? Here is a manger in our stable low.
Lay your blest head down upon the straw which we provide;
Sleep that deep and holy sleep,
For when your eyes shut, our eyes open wide.
As I enter your rest,
let me be your infancy gospel.
The babe cries IAO, the vowels of creation:
The babe awakening, smiles;
My heart illumined by his love.
4
I have wine to drink, and bread to eat:
Will you not join me in my feast?
I was depraved, and so deprived I myself in this foolish fast.
Why?
Toward what end this pallid languishing?
In the dead of night, I saw not the light as if dimly lit:
How can I come in clothes so tattered, smelling rotten and rancid?
Yet sought I comfort, not in barn but in brothel,
enticed by the warm glow that shone upon Salome.
What can I give you on this my birthday?
Up to half my kingdom would I for this dance.
That will not do, nor would it suffice;
that you should pay me only half the price:
This is what I ask, nay, what I demand:
Serve up now the head of the Baptist in your hand.
For only all will do, and only all would suffice:
Half a kingdom is not the baptism he preached,
“Repent ye, the kingdom of heaven is at hand!”
Do you not know, and can you not see?
This brothel is a church for the damned.
These worshipers dream, carving idols with adulterous eyes!
Flee!
Get you out, leave your garment in her bloodied hand:
This whore drinks deep the cup of many slain.
My face lifted to his, one kiss set me free:
His lips drank deep the wine of shame,
the dregs of suffering.
This bread is my flesh,
which I give for the life of the world;
This cup is my blood, shed for the forgiveness of sin.
5
I am brought to your banqueting house, a bountiful feast;
I have become your house of wine:
O taste and see that the Lord is good!
From hence I stagger into the night:
where did I go?
Where am I found?
Stupefied, intoxicated from the fruit of the vine:
The room spinning, swirling round reflecting all colors:
Polished to a reflective hue.
Silent night, holy night:
I emerge as the light.
Shining forth from darkened veil:
An all-encompassing Word, letters spanning from A to Z;
When I saw him, I swooned at his feet as dead,
Fear not.
His hand reaffirmed me once again:
I am the first and the last,
glad you could join me in this repast.
Leon Bahrman