Tuesday, December 21, 2010
poem by Lynn Unger
Annunciation to the Shepherds
It's hard not to laugh.
What a picture it makes—
the dumbfounded shepherds
and the stricken sheep,
the cacophony of bleating
and the barking of sheepdogs
dashing and nipping
in a vain attempt at order,
and over it all the angels
trying to make their
shimmery voices heard.
“A who? Wrapped in what?”
the shepherds holler back.
“Where are we supposed to go?”
Poor guys. They wanted directions,
a purpose, some sense of how
the story might end.
And all they got,
all any of us ever get,
was the sound of angels,
somewhere beyond the din,
singing “Glory, Hosanna”
across the improbable night.
Lynn Ungar
(Is it possible that for many of us--the coming of full blown Kundalini, bringing as it may near unsupportable bliss as well as the sense of the presence of angels, is itself a form of "annunciation," the revelation of a new birth, which is ourselves, shaped into a different being, a coming into existence of an identity unlike what we have known (been ) before? And is it possible that the world itself can undergo such a rebirth, and come forth from darkness into the light of its full possibility? Why not? Those who have undergone such seemingly miraculous transformations know that anything is possible, and that the key is love--universal, all embracing, and ready to take us in its arms if we will but allow it to happen.)
(Picture from bibleencyclopedia.com)
