The Voice
of God upon the Waters
by Jane Enkin
The voice of God is upon the waters. Kol Hashem al hamayim {Psalm
29}
The voice of God bobs up and down
on the waves. A red headed scruffy feathered merganser duck.
Disappears! Diving down. Pops up fantastically far away.
Holds a little fish up high, tips head back
and swallows.
The voice of God is upon the waters.
An oil slick spreads. Shimmering
translucent colours. The sound of motorboats
idling, waiting for straggling passengers to get
all the picnic baskets, water bottles,
towels and life preservers arranged. The colours
intensify in the sun, then thin, spread
and fade.
The voice of God is upon the waters.
Foghorns through the mist.
The sound of the horn low
along the surface, appearing
solid the way fog
does. Spreading, magnifying,
probing a tongue of sound
into the ear.
Is everything that appears solid as insubstantial as the fog
and the sound of the foghorn? Everything equally penetrable,
if only we know the way to slip
between molecules and
reach into the fuzzy, smoky heart?
The voice of God is upon the waters.
God left his voice behind. He
left it on the water. The
waves flop it around. It splashes
and dips.
Now it's washed up on
the shore. A beachcomber
comes across the voice of God,
polished by the waves, no
sharp edges left. Beautiful
colour, translucent in the light.
What's it good for? Put it in
your basket, you never know.
Lovely things are always worth
keeping.
The voice of God is upon the waters.
You dive through it when you take a swim.
Deep down into the silence of the water.
No God voice in this thick, airless realm.
Turn over while you're still underneath.
Float upward toward a growing oval of blue sky, brightness.
Splash out and take a deep breath of God's voice.
Born once again into the air.
The voice of God is upon the waters.
And I am trying to hear.
Should I follow in a boat? Should I swim?
Should I learn to dance on water?
Wait for the freeze up and then walk out,
on to the lake,
and listen?