One Thousand Years: Genesage " Come" (Chp 4:11)
Posted on Thursday, February 25, 2010 by Michael James Stone
One Thousand Years
Genesage
" Come"
(Chp 4:11)
"Come"
Any eyes which might not have been on Tom suddenly shifted to Him.
It was a palpable relief. The air seemed to suddenly have oxygen. The world was boundless again but the shock of hearing The Voice was electric.
Those who had watched Rose, now silent with the infusing of the feelings Rose emitted, looked at Tom. Almost on cue "eyes right" turned attention to the lone man with two companions standing not far from them. Standing as if turned to stone. All eyes were now on Tom alone.
No one doubted who was being spoke to. Everyone seemed to “know”. It was relief to some to know they had not been ‘called out’. A few felt regret. No one knew what Tom would do.
Everyone watched.
Tom was obviously bowed under some great unseen pressure. It was apparent though not visible. Somehow obvious without a reason for its existence. There was a physical tension unseen. Still, it was evident.
A stress in an unseen world vying for supremacy.
Rose facing Tom; Tom facing Rose; neither moving. The contrast between the two was amazing. As free and tender, gentle and peaceful as Rose looked, Tom was the exact opposite.
He appeared chained in some Olympian struggle as an heroic wrestling match.
His face bore the marks, his shoulders the tension, his stance the evidentiary. His muscles were clenched as if to exert advantage, yet the calm of Rose was the true test of power. No one doubted what caused that visage of Tom's perplexity. Each person there had looked deep into the Gaze of Rose.
Each had seen themselves through her eyes and come away changed.
Looking at Tom each wondered what He had seen. He was within a few feet of her. He could see her, she could see him. He could almost reach out and touch her. Tom had even had the privilege none of them had shared. She spoke to him.
Everyone watching sympathized with the struggle Tom was in.
Rose was different than Tom in so many ways. She appeared to all of them completely opposite of the struggle Tom was in.
She seemed passive, relaxed. Resigned to stillness she was so peaceful it was inviting. The security of a mother’s arms reaching to a child wanting to be clasped.
The image floated to all minds of the ageless masterpiece to which Rose inspired.
Alone and naked, the bare branches were bereft of their blooms and petals.
Slim tendrils they parted to allow him to approach her. Fragility emanated from her. Delicacy in finite proportion to extreme genteel carried the moment. It seemed the sheer magnitude of what had been standing before them was gone.
When fully clothed in giant array of myriads of rose petals, it was stupendous.
Now less so as tragic in comparison Rose appeared naked to the heart with sensitivity laid bare before them. Magnanimity in simplistic array. She was symbolic yet real.
This standing away of Tom against Roses bequest was magnificent.
In the obvious gestalt of the moment it was the recalcitrance of humanity to embrace compassion as love was waiting to inspire.
Conspired like a muse to kiss the past away, there was the obvious desire.
A need to free the joys of having feelings.
Rose was calling to all this and so much more.
It was like being privy to a private conversation. No one wanted to be the voyeur yet none could look away. It felt like a tender moment between two people.
Feeling like a dreamscape, a moment in time, this before them was childlike, virginesque. A purity beyond comprehension. The masterpiece of creative splendor in the fullness of life and living.
It staggered the romantic for want of proper designation of the inspiration before them. No one could describe how or what was occurring they only knew it was happening.
"Come"
The whisper of wind… like a voice contained therein…, it was opposite this that they all heard though certainly it could have been .........,
a still small voice.
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