Tuesday, June 11, 2019
The Brush on my Cheek
The air brushed past my cheek like a feather, ever so slightly touching my skin.
No noise, just movement.
Again it moved across my face, my senses heightened, ready to discern the presence.
Now stillness, nothing.
Stillness for such a long time, still nothing.
Perhaps it never was, my wish, my dream, my hope.
Closed eyes, closed out world, listen, sense.
Lids shut, the air moves again past my face.
A glow, faint, then growing brighter.
Eyes still closed, every cell, every sense in tune and anticipation.
The glow, now as bright as the sun fills me.
The air moves, growing stronger as it begins to push against me.
A noise, like the movement of wings comes near.
Now with each sound of movement comes the rush of air.
And then the Voice, a voice like thunder in the mountains.
The words, " Behold the dwelling place of God is with men."
The Seraphim speaks and I tremble.