From Russia With More Love

(These are my early impressions of Russia during a visit to the Kremlin, four different Cathedrals; I was deeply touched by the Icon's on display there)

Was that a wordless song from your heart? Or was it just wishful thinking on my part? Was that trust I felt? Could I sense hope as I was consumed by time and space?

Inside those ancient Cathedral walls, perhaps I was host to souls of spirits passing through me, or perhaps a surviving mortal (my beautiful guide) trying to find a soul mate.

I don't know what I was feeling that day but it felt good, this much I do know. It happened much too fast for me to really understand. But nothing to be ashamed of my own heart tells me, so I shouldn't be tormented. To try and reason this sudden encounter is impossible and to put my feelings into words is hopeless, but total silence is not an option either. I would like to explore this awkward fascination, even though misfortune could well plunder my dreams of far off lands. The sanctity of the church can be a nurturing place and offer safety in a storm, so I shouldn't worry, but it can keep me from the sun’s redeeming light, and there unknown's silently wait for a slip of the tongue. Days can be a lifetime when your right inside the moment, but afterwards when time has past it seems more like a flash, this knowing is not enough to satisfy me personally but spiritually where time does not exist, it was plenty. But I need to know more about the other side of this story, what's it all about?

I now see Russia as a woman, there's a gentle nature to her and she is not as I imagined. Oh! I know she has turmoil and rage in her belly, but she instinctively knows there are no scientific medical cures for her condition, the parasites in her body are not new to her and she'll fight them with her own antibodies, as she's done in the past. Yet with all her uneasiness and burden she still glows, giving off a light that can be seen by the sun. She breaths confidently, her skin is smooth and pure, even though her veins run heavy with the blood of sacrifice. Her strength is her light and her future; she follows it through the eyes of a newborn child and with an innocent curiosity lost to most. She moves with the muse of a poet and the heart and soul of a Savior, cautioning as a mother to her children. Her nourishment is her gift to us all and there are no borders for her loved ones. She cloaks her passions, her desires, her dreams, sharing only with her believer's, for the rest she needs not.

Written By: John Ellis
Published by: Music Borders

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