The Doldrums of Summer remain, and claiming another week of vacation, I choose to use a Blog of a few year’s back which (Thank you, thank you) garnered, much approval with good words sent to me. Hope you readers of years ago, as well as the new ones, will also like it. I still do.
It’s a poem written by some Wise American Indian Man or Woman and the words impressed me so much that I saved them, and as I pore over them again, I still shiver over the meaning and wish their Montana Paper were still being published. It was good.
THE TWELFTH HOUR
For long centuries the world’s been told
“This is the Eleventh Hour.”
And we felt it to be true.
But quietly, almost secretly, the 11th Hour passed
And now, the hoped for, but also feared,
Twelfth Hour is Here. No longer for some vague to-morrow,
BUT RIGHT NOW, THIS IS THE TWELFTH HOUR.
It is the time to know your own Truth,
And cease looking outward for another
To tell us what to think and do.
It can be a glorious time. for
The River is flowing fast.
So rapidly that many are afraid
And cling to the shore
Crying out that they are being torn to pieces.
But The River knows The Destination.
Let go of the shore and,
Dive joyously into the midst of the stream.
See who is with you and rejoice!
Look fearlessly at your fears
And never once reach back to the shore.
For whenever we stop to ask questions
Our Spiritual Journey also stops.
The River knows the Way and
Will carry us with it!
Look to no other for counsel
For the time of asking others is long past.
Be Still and allow yourself
To Know, and then to act in a sacred manner.
That Wondrous Hour
Is no longer anticipated
But is Here. Now. Today.
In deep humility know that
You chose to be part of the Change. And
You are one of those the world has long awaited.
Yes, we shiver, for we know the 11th Hour is past history. That cusp has been passed, and that it is now the 12th Hour. Long, long ago, in One of God’s Preparation Rooms, you and I held up our hands and volunteered to be here, at this crucial, blessed time, and to do our part.
Read again the last line of that Wise Native American Poem. It says that You and I are part of Those Brave Long Awaited Ones. The ones the world has waited to welcome, and now, we are here, and who can know, but perhaps we’ll be blessed to someday meet at The River’s Destination. Why should it not be so? ??