I live for your gift of light,
For those whispers in the wind,
You gave me before my time.
But, youth is narrow-minded,
Deaf, dumb and blind.
Carried away by your grace,
Drunk in your life-wine,
Before I knew what to do,
I squandered and spent,
Smote you with delicious waste,
With pointless feelings, empty words,
Meaningless gestures, false promises.
Ashamed, I bowed my head and moved on.
I walked the tight rope of time,
Dragging my heavy bag of regrets,
My wretched soul and broken reason,
Hoping not to keel over into oblivion.
Then, age caught up with me,
Accompanied by your divine light.
I squandered you a little less,
Spent you economically,
Used you up slowly.
My mind, opened; my ears, perked;
My voice, emerged; my eyes, receptive.
But, squandered, spent and used,
You did not turn to darkness,
You shone for this wasteful fool,
Unworthy of your divine grace, your love-light.
Now, you’re still and always here,
I am not, and I am glad.
For my mind is wide for you,
My ears, attentive to your lips,
My voice, resounding your name,
My eyes, soaking you up.
For so I wish to live,
In bitter-sweet longing for your light,
I am the stray dog on your doorstep,
Who brings you news of your glory.
For my soul is clean;
My regrets, lessons;
My reason, your weapon.
For I claim you not,
Own and possess you not,
I live off your light,
Your light lives in me,
Together we move the world.
Who is responsible for this mystery — life?
Who is it that lets us use them up?
Who allows us fools to make a fool of them,
To toss them about and turn them to waste?
Then, as we come back, bloodied and bruised,
They open up and receive us wider than before,
The fool lets fools use them up some more.
Is it you — God?
Is it you — love?
Is it you — nature?
Is it you —
We are unworthy of you.
Your gift of light,
I am gladly your slave,
With the clearest conscience.