Publish the Word
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Yeshua -- 30, Transfigured

In the beginning. . .
was the word

 The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it. Psalms 68:11

xxx Transfigured

 

Jesus, Simon bar-Jonah, the thunder brothers left

     the others encamped in sleep for an all-day

ascent up Hermon's cloud-enshrouded, snow-

 

tiaraed peaks, along a silver threading stream

     of ice-melt, through eucalpytis groves, pine

stands, root-exposed, prickly conifers.  Higher

 

up, wind like singing drifted down, the air cool,

     the view unimpeded to Tabor and beyond:

Tiberias's bowl of greenish stew, patch-worked

 

plains, Perea, Jordan like a life-vein center of

     its valley spine.  When they paused, at last,

and knelt to pray, a rain of light, not water, fell

 

upon them, not a vapor, not a substance as snow

     in essence was, a matter they could touch

with open hands, hold in mind, but brighter than

 

light, even a cloth of whitest white. Yeshua stood,

     arms upraised, his face a glow of  inner

incandescence.  Then two materialized as flame in

 

flesh-form, in dazzling raiment:  Moses and Elijah,

     and how the apostles knew, they didn't know,

bowed lower, over-awed and mute.  The two from

 

heaven and Jesus conversed aloud an hour of an

     exodus, an upcoming death, an end to sin's reign

as foretold, forgotten from a half-recalled past, but

 

once fulfilled would forever shatter Gehenna's gates.

     Simon proposed he build three tents to honor

the lawgiver, the prophet, his master.  A massive,

 

rolling wave of  what?  cumulonimbus? surged,

     ominous, engulfed the mount and in a voice

all heard, spoke:  This ismy son, whom I love.

 

Listen to him.  Then what?  Were they dazed?

     Did fog dissipate?  Was the dream they woke

 into over?  Yeshua led them downward, silence bound.