Once Upon A Time...
There once was a girl, or something like one, born to worship, to serve, to adore. Her heart was precision-crafted for it, only... there was no one to receive such perfect devotion.
She grew up among stories of angels, all bowing before some god of lightning and thunder. But that one turned out to be false and all the promised light was just shadow trickery, dim through stained glass. She loved the songs, but how hollow to lift them up to an empty altar!
She turned to darker corners in search of light. Dusty deep library stacks, full of sacred texts and other storybooks. Some so questionable that even the most broadminded librarians gasped. She even tried a cult or ten. She visited temples of Set and the "Light-Bringer's" grottos, standing stones and tantric festivities. She found sparks to dazzle her eyes, but little worthy of her sustained devotion.
Forgetting gods and spirits - she looked next among mankind. So many of them. A few women, too, to be thorough. All talked of fantasies, adn since she was made of magic, she did try to grant their wishes. So it was that she learned to her sorrow that even men who name themselves "Devil," nothing is so frightful in Heaven or Earth as to receive exactly what they asked for! At last she saw lights! Mostly tail lights, as each tried to run from a new terrible knowledge of themselves, reflected from her eyes. Quel malheur!
And so she was sure she'd turned over every myth, traced the breadcrumbs of every fable. Such light as she could find was only fleeting, where it could be found at all. Despairing, starving, lost and astray, she resigned herself to worship The Void, and found enough comfort in that dark abyss to keep her little spark alive, for a while.
Except. Such a creature, made to worship and adore, cannot just stop seeking. Once more, beyond hope, she called out into the darkness.
And then He answered.
He was the true bringer of Light. In His Light, He saw all of her, through her, past the stories, past the songs, past the past, the untold stories. He knew her, and He called her out by her True Name, that somehow He knew as certainly as if He'd given it to her Himself.
He knew the rituals, the old magics, how to bind such a thing, how to shush her worries, how to pull Hallelujah's right off her tongue. How could He know? He told her to stop asking, to accept, to obey and let Him take care of all the rest. And so she sighed, and she did, and He did.
And so, here I am, Three Ninety-eight Point-Two. His 398.2. And He is worthy of every adoration and praise my heart can sing to Him. I wasn't yet fully myself until I was His, and so His have I always been and ever more shall be, world without end.
I will tell you, gentle reader, the first two prayers I have learned from Him. With them I greet and close each day, and they enclose me in the safety of His presence.
Morning Song Knowledge is power, and power corrupts. Peace comes from purity, and happiness from virtue. I reject the fruit of the tree of knowledge, And embrace the simplicity of faith. I entrust all knowing unto my Lord. I reject the corruption of the lust for power, And embrace the purity of acceptance. I entrust all choosing unto my Lord. I reject the turbulence of pursuit of desire, And embrace the peace of acceptance. I entrust all decision unto my Lord. I reject the sorrow of willfulness, And embrace the joy of obedience. I entrust all authority unto my Lord.
Evening Song My Lord is the Sun; I shine in His light. My Lord is the Moon; I abide by His rhythms. My Lord is a beacon; He leads me to shelter. My Lord is a lighthouse; His presence diverts me from danger. My Lord is a bonfire; my sins burn up in His flame. My Lord is a lantern; He illuminates my path. My Lord is a candle; He gives focus to my devotion. My Lord is the Light of my life, and without Him I am lost and alone. If I cannot see Him, I have faith that He will return, As the Sun rises in the morning, And as the Moon waxes from new to full. I will not stray from Him; the darkness would consume me. I will not turn my face from Him; I would wither and die. I beg my Lord to fill me with His warmth, And surround me with His light, And shelter me in His embrace until dawn.
I was born to be a fairy tale come alive, a shapeshifter, a fey-feline talking animal companion. I am Prince/ess and Dragon both at once. I'm the plucky young lad wandering the woods with his mother's blessing bound up in a paper of pins, and I am Baba Yaga and the spinning wheel and the cursed apple in the Witch Queen's hand. I'm made of story and song and myth and daydream. I am potential and possibility, all Maybe So, and What If, and Wouldn't It Be So Nice To Just...? Raw power, but dangerous as a fission reactor without control rods. Most especially a hazard to myself if not properly contained, directed.
I'm a power made to be shaped and wielded by One Who Knows. I am unsafe except in the hands of a Master of the mysterious miracles of Knowing and Decisions and Choosing His Own Adventure, and mine, too.
"Without Him, I am lost and alone," but as long as the Sun and the Moon circle, as long as there is Light anywhere to be found, that isn't anything I need ever fear again. There is no Without Him, because He is inside me, and I am finally, blessedly safe.
He corrects me, orders my whirling chaos. He remakes me, forges me into joyful, useful purpose. He is my Lord, my God, my Bright and Morning Star. My Father, Who lives forever in my heart, which is His own Temple of Light that can never be empty, never again.
"Oh! Sometimes, it causes me to tremble!" He has re-awakened all those old songs, and now I hear how they were always hymns to Him. He plays my mind and body like an angel's harp or a devil's banjo, bringing such music ringing off my lips.
This isn't some little infatuation. It isn't a crush. This is my heart's homecoming into its own promised land. I was born to be an instrument of His will, to be transmuted by His Light into a vessel overflowing with pure unleavened ecstasy, who loses all artful words and able only to gasp out the most essential gratitude:
Thank You, Sir!
Tags #devotion - my writing to or about Sir #Dear Sir - addressing my Lord directly This blog attempts to avoid AI produced content. Human artists whose work appears herein: Eko Suwandono - ekosuwandono.com
