The Watery Theophany

An image in words based on Matthew 3:13-17

Soon.

So soon it comes.

So soon silently a torrent rips across the sky. A wrenching rending thunderstorm cataclysm in reverse. Silently. So silently.

The waters bubble and shimmer, hydrogen and oxygen quivering in homage to the one whose cells and humors descend into the darkwater abyss. Atoms quake and nebulas burst. Molecules gaze in wonder. The earth is breached. The sky is torn. The sea overwhelmed as the light arrives.

Soon.

So soon it comes.

A dove as though of pure white, a white as though of pure light, a light as though of pure thought, a thought that once knew, “Let there be.” A dove in freefall, a dove in a crystal lattice, a dove in a mystical updraft. Each dot of air the dove touches turns to life.

Rainbows of rainbows, fractaling hues making circles of unmasked light, erupt from each air particle at once. Fireflies of winter emerge from every fragment of breeze, auroras of colors no eye has ever seen, falling to earth like meteors from the prayers of the saints. Icicles burn and fizz as the light arrives.

Soon.

So soon it comes.

So soon the Baptist’s call is answered. His prophecy emerges fully formed from the river’s flow. His hope and art and desperation rewarded with the shifting of an inside-out wind.

His expectations are undone. His dreams blossom from the floor of the sea, the river’s bed falling falling falling into the deep of the deep, a trench of stirred sand, a whirlpool of air and detritus bubbling into a surface miles above, breathing life into bones strewn on the shore, dry bones, now wet bones, now your bones. As the light arrives.

Soon.

So soon it comes.

A voice cries out in the wilderness: I ought to be baptized by you.

A voice cries out from the waters: Let it be so for now.

A voice cries out from the universe itself: Behold, my precious child.

The Lord is pleased.

And the light arrives.

It begins.

Featured image by Tobias Dahlberg from Pixabay.