2000
I will not pick up the garment of the whore.
I am beauty, in your eyes pure and piercing.
My gown is garlanded with the stars.
I will not pick up the garment of the whore.
I am strength and delight, fluid and breath.
I move to the sound of your Holy presence, resting like mist on my skin, warm oil on my head.
I will not pick up the garment of the whore.
I am priceless, a jewel, worth a man’s life; the life of a King.
I am whole, entwined with the intention and hope that is the creation of all things.
I will not listen to the voices calling me, appealing to my flesh with old tunes, wants, and self-justification.
I will not pick up the garment of the whore.
I am un-owned, liberated, chosen. My feet walk on water, mountain tops, they ascend.
I will not return to the bed of addiction, of despair, self pity, filth…
I will not pick up the garment of the whore.
I am spring, birth, life.
In my heart lies the womb of the Kingdom, I dream and blessings are made manifest, I hope and dreams are revealed, I ask and I receive.
I will not reach for the familiar, the smell of lusty ambitions and slavery, that haughty death … I will not pick up the garment of the whore.
I am the dew, sweet kisses on the cheek of the eternal.
My beloved is mine and I am his. He is the desire of the nations.
But His eyes are on me, I am wanted, chosen, the desire of His heart.
I will not empty out the cup of offense, tempting soul and mind…
I will not pick up the garment of the whore.
I am covered with The Light, comforted by The Lion, overjoyed with The Lamb.
I am embraced and content with this love.
I will pick up the garment of praise and gladness. I will enter His gates with Thanksgiving in my heart.
-lrr 2010
