Electrically, mystically, ecstatically, practically, occupy the city, I am
Father; occupy the streets within me; Abba!
Block all unfruitful paths, corridors, and rues within me;
tear down the barricades which i have erected
for my own perceived protection,
and place the pleasant lines of Your boundaries of being, there instead-
the true contours of self.
Open up the avenues of praise, thanks-
the gratitude of true becoming
until we are nothing else
but one integrated city together.
Sing that song of free-paths throughout the city
i am. rattle every window to shatter and come clear-bam!
Feel free to shamelessly, broadcast
Yourself here, (Your Towers of transmission astound me!)
that each borough-or aspect of self-would relinquish self determination to enter it,
and play her part in the whole,
celebrating her own membership in Your expression of Yourself.
Cleanse the walls and doors of my cathedrals and synagogues, and
the hallways of our houses;
rip out the wrong plants, the diseased vines and poisoned tendrils
and make pleasant my parks, with orphaned plant’s homecoming
into the green comfort of Your selected soil-so foreigners can dream beneath Your willows, finally canopying our souls…(those trees along the river of life-gather them into my parks unseen quilted comforts!)
And, awaken my park fountains in purity ripple Your cause, and
cause my waters to shimmer again, and overflow, in glow,
so children can play
in glistens unseen…
until other’s eyes are blessed into seeing
true sight. And, make my cafes to overflow
with grand simple conversation
and my train stations to welcome
all who come to me. Father, occupy
the city which i am in You. And set us
in the particular order of Glory-cause my streets
to shine again, so others may traverse them in clarity, into
the central corridors of True Being and Rest.
Hallow out my halls and counsel rooms
until i speak more with the tongues of angels than men,
in kindness and forethought, planting, again, my words
in wisdom’s fine soil which receives that inner chiming
of undulating, cracking kernel patterns of ongoing growth—seed breaking out beneath the ground
in womb unseen which will birth Spring. Change me now,
while it is safe, unseen, before the obvious blooms emerge.
Let us live in You, and be built on the verge of You
as a shining city on a hill, for all to see, and pilgrimage
towards…So, occupy, possess, then cultivate us into
the electrically fruitful city we were meant to be
and somehow, miraculously, already are!