Wounds to Wisdom – The Grafting of the Burning Bush

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grafting of the burning bush

come with me

for the story of

a sudden expansion of my heart

I can feel the pulsation of me

pushing pulling straining at the chains

to break them into pieces

and the little swords pushing out

and clinking to the floor

the scars are stretching

against their constraints

this sudden expansion of territory

the supernova of this encounter

humbles me. this is sacred ground.

I bow to the greatness

to the awe I feel

I bow with my head pressed in prayer

with scriptures at my fingers

I feel the word of God inside me now

I inhale it with gulps of light

and regurgitate it like a mother bird

and add it to the palette of

paint I am mixing up.

red gold black and blue

steam is rising from my brushes

the water will not stay cool

my hair smells like smoke

and my nostrils cannot

get enough air

the wound that will not

scab over begins to dry.

as you pass through hell

with your hair on fire

don’t forget to hum the tune

to gloryland so you can find your

way through the caves

that echo

the future is unwritten.

The flame on my heart

just burns so hot

and the compost of the old

stories stinks itself onto the canvas

as muck from the paws of the wolves

that live inside me.

Pressing so hard

that first time on my heart

spiritual cpr made me breath again.

It jump started. That was when.

My words and God’s word were pressing

into our brightest scars.

Maybe our scars are aligned

and we can expand to unseen places

of the soul. oh vast capacity I seek you.

Healing is mine now and I dance.

At the easel

I paint the hearts

of fire and pray God to listen

to the prayer which will not

leave my lips.

I will not go to sleep on the questions love asks.

This inquiry into the quiet space between us

is expanded by the breath of God.

Breathe God with me Breathe God with me

Breathe God with me Breathe God with me

Press the scars of you into my tender places

until we no longer care where the scars came from

because God is

grafting the burning bush of us

into wisdom.

God’s own heart beats inside of all of us.

Wounds to wisdom hear me roar.

Last night I swallowed the burning bush

and I dreamed it became my very own heart

God’s word became my breath

our scars aligned and were grafted

into light instead of the rugged cross

our scars became the crossroads

where Jesus rose to life in

the garden and he handed us

both a rose, with thorns.

He greeted us with open wounded palms

and told us: Come unto me

and he said:

Coming unto me is coming unto one another.


I think I understand my Lord.

yanked by the hair
over the edge of my scar

on my way over that bloodied

grand canyon of my love story

I noticed all the light

coming from the scar

the light from the wound

that lights up the cosmic city of humanity

and ashes were flying

everywhere and our hands

held the embers to our breasts.

You who serve me and

through me

serve Him

and I serve the Red Madonna

who rises in my heart

a red star of ragged hope, rises.

I thirst.

This is your Mother.

It is finished.

~ Jesus

Dedicated to: D.A.T.

I know I said I wasn’t going to post anymore on here. BUT Red Madonna Radio isn’t up yet and this is still part of the old story. Ready for a new one now.

Thanks God.

Thanks you.

Thanks to life.