Outside the golden doors I wait my turn.
A dusty once-blue nylon pack bending my back,
Wrenching the butterfly clavicles from my breastbone,
Torn security stickers, faded airline tags, half erased name.
My calloused fingers laced around the smooth handle of a faded red duffel bag
Worn through, patched and worn again.
A thin gray scarf, fringe knotted, draped around my bowed head
Clothes, old, foreign, stained and dusty,
Broken, frayed, heel-shaved sandals on my feet.
I wait my turn.
Stealing glances when the golden door rocks open.
All is glistening, shining.
Brilliant light drives my eyes closed
Leaving swirling gold, blues, greens,
Scarves of northern lights wrap my astonished, frightened mind.
I wait my turn.
My name
A name I barely know,
Buried beneath other names;
Pseudonyms, nicknames, assigned names
Which, I wonder, will the angel call?
Will I recognize it, know it, claim it as my own?
I wait, stealing glances, listening.
The golden door rocks open again.
Magical notes sung in ocean thick harmonies
Swirling patterns of aural clouds
Gentle rain, soft and cool wash the dust from my upturned face, my pack, my bag, my filth-stained feet,
A glorious wind dyes my clothes, my old gray scarf into spinning star-birth colors.
And I am rapt and wrapped
Enveloped and enthralled.
One chord calls out a melodic descant
And I recognize a name I’ve never heard
Echoing across the universe from the beginning of time,
And I am rapt and wrapped,
Enveloped and enthralled.
Drawn into the dancing center of the swirling universe
Where, I, too, am dancing, spinning, skipping, jumping, laughing
In jeweled stared brilliance
Cradled in the cupped hands, warm eyes, gentle laughter of eternity’s father.
I am born.
On Judgment day, I am born.
How do you dream Heaven?
