Monday Morning Musings
With the coming of the false dawn, the sky over Jerusalem fades from midnight to cobalt blue. Not a cloud to be seen and the dome overhead is spangled with stars. Along the eastern horizon the true dawn announces its pending arrival with streaks of pink and orange. Just above the city structures glows a pure white dot – the morning star. On any other morning, the rays of the rising sun would wash the out that spot of white. But not this morning.
This morning as the first golden arc crests the ancient city walls, the white dot expands, looming ever larger. Together Sol and the white planet rise together. Is it Venus? No. Instead of the sun overwhelming the dawn herald, the growing white light fades the sunlight until it is no more than a glowing ember, flooding Jerusalem in a light so pure, every living thing falls before it. Continuing to expand, the light moves westward, crossing the Mediterranean Sea, then the Atlantic Ocean, the western continents, the Pacific, Asia, until it connects again with its genesis over the holy city. This illumination is like none other, none since the beginning of time when a voice echoed through all the realms of galaxies and nebulae, “Let there be light!”
The illumination penetrates every room, attic, cellar and cave and all bow before it – some in mortal terror and others in awed anticipation. Unseen, for mortal eye cannot bear it, a Rider comes astride the beam. His mount is white from mane to tail and the Rider? Oh the Rider clothed in iridescence bound in a sash and girdle of red gold, his hair is white, his flesh like polished bronze, his eyes like lightning. And in his upraised arm he holds a gleaming sword. Behind him streams an innumerable army of beings clothed like their leader and armed with swords of power. And behind them host upon host of jubilant souls.
The Rider looks upon Jerusalem. Compared to Him, the golden Dome of the Rock seems tarnished and tawdry. At a glance, it folds in on itself, collapsing until nought but dust remains. The Rider waves his sword and his army surges forward to encounter the writhing forms that spring out of the dust. The battle is brief and the Rider’s foes are soon bound and helpless.
Then he calls out with a voice louder than the roaring falls of Niagara, More musical than chorus of songbirds, sweeter than the sound of flutes and violins – “Let My bride arise!” From every corner of the planet, those who have yearned for this day find themselves lifted, transformed, soaring to join the countless host of souls who followed the Rider.
Then another voice booms forth, “Let the books be opened!” A great rift in space and time tears open. Into it, first the captive spirits the heavenly army has defeated, are thrust. Then every soul, from Adam until this very moment is judged, separated to the left and to the right. With great wailing and fear, those on the left are herded into the rift. When the last of them has entered, it snaps shut. A great tremor shakes the planet. Mountains sink low; valleys rise up. All is covered in green with springs forming crystal rivers and pools. Where once the golden dome stood is a vast and verdant plain. From the glowing sky a city descends, walls of transparent gold, gates of enormous pearls. As it settles gently upon the renewed earth, the angel army surrounds it and the Rider descends and dismounts. “Come!” he calls. “Come, my bride! Come to the marriage feast of the Lamb!”Monday Morning Musings
With the coming of the false dawn, the sky over Jerusalem fades from midnight to cobalt blue. Not a cloud to be seen and the dome overhead is spangled with stars. Along the eastern horizon the true dawn announces its pending arrival with streaks of pink and orange. Just above the city structures glows a pure white dot – the morning star. On any other morning, the rays of the rising sun would wash the out that spot of white. But not this morning.
This morning as the first golden arc crests the ancient city walls, the white dot expands, looming ever larger. Together Sol and the white planet rise together. Is it Venus? No. Instead of the sun overwhelming the dawn herald, the growing white light fades the sunlight until it is no more than a glowing ember, flooding Jerusalem in a light so pure, every living thing falls before it. Continuing to expand, the light moves westward, crossing the Mediterranean Sea, then the Atlantic Ocean, the western continents, the Pacific, Asia, until it connects again with its genesis over the holy city. This illumination is like none other, none since the beginning of time when a voice echoed through all the realms of galaxies and nebulae, “Let there be light!”
The illumination penetrates every room, attic, cellar and cave and all bow before it – some in mortal terror and others in awed anticipation. Unseen, for mortal eye cannot bear it, a Rider comes astride the beam. His mount is white from mane to tail and the Rider? Oh the Rider clothed in iridescence bound in a sash and girdle of red gold, his hair is white, his flesh like polished bronze, his eyes like lightning. And in his upraised arm he holds a gleaming sword. Behind him streams an innumerable army of beings clothed like their leader and armed with swords of power. And behind them host upon host of jubilant souls.
The Rider looks upon Jerusalem. Compared to Him, the golden Dome of the Rock seems tarnished and tawdry. At a glance, it folds in on itself, collapsing until nought but dust remains. The Rider waves his sword and his army surges forward to encounter the writhing forms that spring out of the dust. The battle is brief and the Rider’s foes are soon bound and helpless.
Then he calls out with a voice louder than the roaring falls of Niagara, More musical than chorus of songbirds, sweeter than the sound of flutes and violins – “Let My bride arise!” From every corner of the planet, those who have yearned for this day find themselves lifted, transformed, soaring to join the countless host of souls who followed the Rider.
Then another voice booms forth, “Let the books be opened!” A great rift in space and time tears open. Into it, first the captive spirits the heavenly army has defeated, are thrust. Then every soul, from Adam until this very moment is judged, separated to the left and to the right. With great wailing and fear, those on the left are herded into the rift. When the last of them has entered, it snaps shut. A great tremor shakes the planet. Mountains sink low; valleys rise up. All is covered in green with springs forming crystal rivers and pools. Where once the golden dome stood is a vast and verdant plain. From the glowing sky a city descends, walls of transparent gold, gates of enormous pearls. As it settles gently upon the renewed earth, the angel army surrounds it and the Rider descends and dismounts. “Come!” he calls. “Come, my bride! Come to the marriage feast of the Lamb!”
Kathy Kexel 