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And they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament; and they that turn many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever. ---Daniel 12:3 intending emet (an opera in nine parts) overture ah, Lord, my Lord, oh, oh, oh LORD... "they have killed thy prophets" the altar is overflowing with blood yet one bruised figure limps away, disappears with darkness on his heels. is He a wise star so marred from view by the thick dust of our confusion and by the cultivated wars of lies? aria, one the words were dim light (just dim light) I blinked at the page, tasting the struggle as if it were made of blood and sweat and bottles of tears that went rank, sent out marching to the din of pipe and drum. drumming bombs and broken mainlines spraying caustic wetness everywhere, those words are blurred by tears acts I we sit in rubble crying and rubbing our eyes incessantly though it grinds-in the pain and makes the blindness endless: we do not know how to stop once we start, the itch commands us like slaves, to do its bidding as long as we can't see II one by one, we fall back exhausted then finally, we see the wise stars warning 'If you're lost' they blink, 'just look again...' but though the flickering message speaks still once again our eyes and ears go mute so that we only hear the darkness and we only see the everlasting pounding and we only know the frozen movement. III the One who limped from the altar kneels in the shadows soothing some with healing oil, moving alongside others as their staggering pulses flee away-- the bodies left lifeless, like scattered shell cases which once held live fire. we are helplessly spent there while crippled Mercy weeps and moans songs aria, two I still hear Him singing songs of triumph; singing while black death surrounds us, I wonder if He truly sees the losses, deep within him, He must feel the pain. I murmur, "does He ever hear the crying? where is He in this abysmal darkness? and why the silent flash of deadly light?" He sings the song that holds it all together (yes, He is that strength, that song) act iv prophets lead across the tightrope timeline; abraham counts footprints in the sand measuring a place for those who follow, counting the starry promise as if done. we go after joseph, moses, daniel to places we've not seen, except with faith eyes the true prophets gave us, their rock-hard immaterial evidence act v we rehearse our epic story as we live it often living out the life we share in symbolic roles we fill with meaning as their riddle-way unfolds. stop to see the way we still leave egypt crossing seas the Wind blows dry until the water-walls crash down in torrents to kill the wicked serpent at our heels finale ah, LORD, your prophets are not dead though their tattered bones are scattered in the valley by the brook-of-five-smooth-stones your voice still sings out triumphant "the lame walk again," up-rising Mercy groans and the sign is lifted up, a bronze serpent on a pole when evil staves all turn to serpents dove-like Wisdom swallows death and saves our souls -- yours truly (c)