i am marching around my Jericho.
because i believe in once, in twice, in seven times and a ram's horn blast.
i believe in the power of prayer. not magic or myth, but so much truth.
prayer, as strong as it once was when prophets raised hands to the skies and cried, and fire fell from Heaven and rain flooded from barren skies.
when warriors drop spears and march instead in circles around and around the massive walls, and a stomp and a trumpet and a shout collapses the wall, save for the place where the former prostitute knelt with her dear ones and believed that she and they alone would be spared.
it's not asking for the solution to the maze. it's holding out the hand and whispering
i'm lost and confused.
it's the stand at the cliff's edge and crying to the skies with more joy than one soul can contain. and all i can do anymore is sing, not a dirge but a dancing rhythm.
i rose, the dungeon filled with light.
my chains fell off, my heart was free
i rose, went forth, and followed Thee.
and i'm kneeling in the center of this circle, hands raised to Heaven to receive the coming rain. the ground is dry, but i have marched, and now i wait.
how can it be
that Thou, my God, should die
oh, glory is my song. and barefoot, this circle is my home.