In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him stood the seraphim. Each had six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. And one called to another and said: "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!" And the foundations of the thresholds shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke. And I said: "Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!" Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: "Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for." (Isaiah 6:1-7)
My vividly overactive imagination
Conjures another evening-train-ride-home daydream
That leaves me shaking in its intensity.
In my mind's eye,
I am standing before the Almighty's Throne.
The train of his robe
Is stretching somewhere past
The Andromeda galaxy,
And His foot is resting
Gingerly on the earth.
I am being
Blown backwards off my feet
By the Lord's Holiness -
His Very Presence -
Rays of Shechinah Glory
That are flaying the flesh from my bones.
My unholiness exposed
To that brilliant Light -
My rebellion, for which the punishment is death -
I scream a single note of pain-fueled terror.
One of the few Hebrew words I know -
"Rachem!" - is torn from my lips.
The sound of my voice is drowned out
By the sea-blast roar of the Seraphim
Who proclaim the Lord's holiness
Across the expanse of the Heavens.
This furnace heat will melt me.
I will surely live the eternal death,
Flung into the far reaches of the Pit,
And I am deserving of this fate.
I cannot stand unaided before
My Maker.
The pressure of His Righteous Judgment
Is crushing the life out of me.
All is lost.
I am lost.
There is a sudden stop
To the crushing of my body.
I open my eyes, and see
I am lying in the umbra
Of The Cross
Planted directly between
The Lord of Hosts and myself.
The Shadow of The Cross
Protects me
From God's thermonuclear Brilliance.
I do not move.
I close my eyes,
And wait for whatever will happen next.
And then I hear a Voice call my name:
"Blanca."
It is a soft, sure voice.
He says my name with the
Intimacy of many years.
I open my eyes and see
The Anointed One.
He walks toward me,
Radiant,
The weight of the age of the Universe
Shining in His eyes.
He extends a hand to me,
Saying,
"It's okay. Stand up."
I don't move.
"I am not worthy," I confess.
He nods.
"On your own, yes," he agrees.
"But you do not approach
The Lord alone.
I stand between
You and He.
My Sacrifice covers you,
Paying the sin-debt
Your mortal life incurs."
He is standing over me now,
His hand still extended to me.
"Come," He beckons.
I reach up and take hold of a grip
That communicates
I am more loved
Than anything I can even begin to conceive of.
I slowly get to my feet
And stare into
The Face of That Eternal Love.
He smiles; I smile.
The tears that well in my eyes
Say more completely than any words ever could
How joyful and thankful and praiseful I am
For the Lord's plan of deliverance...
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