Mist

The sky he cries, over the sea;
Weeps against the windows of her ocean vessel,
"Let me in, let me see."

The wind stings her panes with his tears
In a sharp downward slant.
Water seeps in through the cracks.
The glass cries on both sides.

He presses for answers.
"Why does she mourn?"
But she has no use for words.
She is an enormity of wind, water, and mystery.

His cloudy mist covers
And hovers over
Her damply hidden depths;
Still her secrets remain her own.

While he does not know her sorrows
He knows well her grief
And they whisper together soul to soul
In the midst of the mist
'Til barely can be distinguished sky from sea,
Blue gray from steel green.

Note: I wrote this poem on the first morning of our trip, after reading the preface to Elie Wiesel's Night.  I could probably spend a year writing and following all the trails of emotion and questions and wonderings those 9 pages opened up in my spirit.  As I follow those trails I am simply very grateful that Wiesel wrote. My Lord reminded me again how much courage He asks of His scribes. The original foreword by Francois Mauriac to Night is also priceless. That was as far as I got.  Overwhelmed with gravity, I made my way up to the 14th floor of the ship in the early morning hours to the empty bar that overlooked the dismal sea.  We had a lot of stormy weather on our ocean journey.  But I didn't mind. The Lord didn't allow me to ask for sunny weather.  Perfect weather, was the prayer He gave me. Besides, there isn't a day I don't love the sea.  Like me, she has her moods. 

I thought I would share with you some quotes of Elie's preface (this is a new preface published with the retranslation of the work by Wiesel's wife, Marion).
 "Convinced that this period in history would be judged one day, I knew that I must bear witness.  I also knew that, while I had many things to say, I did not have the words to say them.  Painfully aware of my limitations, I watched helplessly as language became an obstacle.  It became clear that it would be necessary to invent a new language.  But how was one to rehabilitate and transform words betrayed and perverted by the enemy?

...Deep down the witness knew then, as he does now, that his testimony would not be received.  After all, it deals with an event that sprang from the darkest zone of man.  Only those who experienced Auschwitz know what it was.  Others will never know. 

But would they at least understand?

And yet, having lived through this experience, one could not keep silent no matter how difficult, if not impossible, it was to speak.

And so I persevered.  And trusted the silence that envelopes and transcends words."

Elie Wiesel