Mountain Song
October 17, 2021 - Reading time: 2 minutes
Qomolangma (Mount Everest).
I took this photo in September 2019, on the Tibetan side of the Himalayas. The tour guide told us that what we were seeing is rare: a full view of the mountain from foot to peak, without any cloud covering. God's blessing to us.
Some time ago, I received a vision from the Holy Spirit while worshipping in church. I was standing on a mountain peak taller than Qomolangma, above the cloud cover, looking at range upon range of mountains stretching in all directions. There was nothing but earth beneath me, and sky above me, and the presence of the Lord all around me. I looked at the mountains, and it seemed that I beheld them in their primordial, pre-Fall state: pristine mountains before man's foot tread on them, mountains that only beheld the face of God. I saw these pristine mountains between cloud and sky, and something in my heart ached with terrible longing.
"Lord, this is beautiful, so beautiful," I said.
The Holy Spirit said, "Behold."
And, from horizon to horizon, the mountains began to sing.
In church, I remember falling facedown on the ground, my body and soul reverberating with this titanic song. It was an undescribable experience, like beholding a vast beauty that exceeds human dimensions and comprehension. The song and the vision lasted only a short time, but even now I can hear/feel/sense the echo of it, and my soul aches again.
O God, when you restore creation, I want to come back to this place, and hear the mountains singing their ancient praises to you.
Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.
Who determined its measurements -- surely you know!
Or who has stretched the line upon it?
On what were its bases sunk,
or who laid its cornerstone,
when the morning stars sang together
and all the sons of God shouted for joy?—Book of Job, ch. 38, v. 4-7
Unpublished poem by George MacDonald
October 14, 2021 - Reading time: ~1 minute
Go not forth to call Dame Sorrow
From the dim fields of Tomorrow;
Let her roam there all unheeded,
She will come when she is needed;
Then, when she draws near thy door,
She will find God there before.
—George MacDonald, unpublished poem;
recited by Jerry Root at Hutchmoot Homebound, October 2021
The tide is running high, my love,
July 9, 2016 - Reading time: ~1 minute
The blossom’s almost done,
It falls without a sigh, my love,
Like mist dies in the sun.
The wind is blowing wild, my love,
It rattles the window pane,
It cries like a lost child, my love,
Her tears fall like the rain.
A child you’ll never know, my love,
For I could not make you stay,
You followed the high tide’s flow, my love,
And a ship took you away.
Our tears could fill the sea, my love,
Beneath this cruel sky,
For you’ll not come back to me, my love,
Though the tide is running high.
—"The running tide",
Jane Dougherty
July 17, 2014 - Reading time: ~1 minute
The love of books. My library is an archive of longings.
—Susan Sontag
{via}
A fire is burning in Bird Spirit Land,
August 13, 2013 - Reading time: ~1 minute
In Bird Spirit Land lies my young love.
A storm is raging in Bird Spirit Land,
I will scatter the black carrion birds.
I will watch over the kissing clay of my young love.
I will be with him in Bird Spirit Land.
A fire is burning in Bird Spirit Land.
My bones smoulder.
I must journey there.
—Lavondyss, Robert Holdstock