The Cross is Always our Friend: A Poem

In the blink of an eye
You have plucked me out of
“Available” and “unavailable,” where
Unflagging demands extracted the
Marrow of the remains of
Scheduled devotional times, and
The corporeal aches either
Festered or fed
The public persona already held up by unproven
Alchemy, mixed motivations, love, and prayer.
It was not a matter of hypocrisy,
But the mere survival from one meeting to another—
Of rising from the bed one more
Day.
Now, I mourn the loss of the unbridled drive
the ceaseless orbit of people, places, calendars,
And the hourly test of the will against this ever-faltering
Physique. The distemper is now full-blown,
As if at last unhinged by the pretense of
Employment. The mad woman ravages me,
Punishes me, seeks revenge for failing to pay court to
Her when first she appeared. Yet herein is
The supreme victory: I am slower, therefore
I read poetry slowly. My patterns are irregular,
Disarmed by the tricks of some mysterious neurology;
So, I do not have scheduled devotional times,
I am able to simply live devotionally.
I am able to read, pray, eat, walk, write, and pray
With devotion.
Maddeningly simple.
My malady has become my spiritual director.
The wicked witch is but a little shepherdess under
The magisterial power of the true Master, leading me
Down gentle paths where once I passed in fevered anxiousness
To serve others to discover their own paths.
The wretched things that are attacking me are now
Stroking my forehead. I am more alive. For
I might have lost sight of the cross as I spoke of it.
The spike in my body has made it real.
The cross is reminding my soul of the tomb
That I forgot would come, and the
Eighth day glory that would follow.
Oh blessed reminder. Oh small cost.
Oh Holy Comforter.
The cross is always our friend.