Breath
When, in the cavern darkness, Jesus
opened his small, bleating mouth (even before
his eyes widened to the supple world his
lungs had sighed into being), did he intuit
how hungrily the lungs gasp? Did he begin, then,
to love the way air sighs as it brushes in and out
through the portals of tissue to sustain
the tiny heart’s iambic beating? And how,
fueled by air, the dazzling blood tramps
the crossroads of the brain like donkey tracks,
corpuscles skittering to the earlobes and toenails?
Bottle of the breath of God, speaking in stories,
shouting across wild, obedient water, his voice
was stoppered only by inquisition, unfaith
and anguish. Did he know that he would,
in the end, leak all his blood, heave a final
groan and throw his breath,
oxygen for the world, back to its Source
before the next dark cave?
(From: Accompanied by Angels: Poems of the Incarnation by Luci Shaw)
*
How does one paint the breath of God? It is such a mysterious and interesting concept to think about and visualize, much less paint, but I suspect Makoto Fujimara has something in his collection that fits; what stunning, beautiful art he creates. Here is a piece of Fujimara’s I found as I was searching, called “Every beauty suffers” that I liked and seemed to fit the thoughts of first breath, dying breath, oxygen, the cavern/cave references in the poem, suffering, and redemption and beauty in the midst of the suffering.
Every beauty suffers by Makoto Fujimara
*
*