The Presence

I’m aware God is always a presence 
as I sleep, awake.
It’s a quiet feeling, a sense,
not as such fantastic, 
not such that I want to cry out,
but a silent presence 
that when absent is a crippling loss. 

It’s a personal conversation, 
a consultation  
I am holding with my inmost self
to set direction,
or determine steps I must take.
I may even shake, 
aware of my own frustration. 

Then, amazingly, grace sets in.
I consider options. 
The situation is always the same. 
It is me who changes, 
who suddenly knows what to do,
knows the cost and sighs, 
but by then I’m outside of myself

staring through a glass-paned window,
a window locked.
But there is still engagement. 
It’s the world of truth and grace
into which I’ve stumbled;
understand little more than that,
know I am humbled.

It’s not my will that’s addressed,
rather I’m absorbed. 
Not a thing that is ever familiar. 

Yes, I do remember my name
and am feeling blessed.
But neither, I’m aware, is important. 
Full attention counts:

words to be used, actions taken.
Not an inch of room 
for wiggle, not chance to dodge.
No time wasted on explanation.
It’s the sword of God
still blazing at the doors of Eden
and just as sharp.