Rocks and Fields

With closed eyes I do life.
I wake with closed eyes,
I work with closed eyes,
I speak with closed eyes,
I think with closed eyes.

I live in streets and walls.
I live in a box, in a fog.

All the things that fill my days,
they fill my head,
and push out all of the light,
and it takes my sight.

But I escaped.

I saw.

A man, standing on a rock.
Face in the wind.
Eyes to the fields.

This world is alive, its real.
These rocks, these fields, these skies?
A man once lived here and saw them too.
He lived under the same stars and clouds as I do.

There is one world,
and its the world my savior walked on.
The eyes of my heart squint to make out the reality.
He lived, breathed, and died upon these very rocks.
He was here.
And he still is.

That man standing on the rock,
face to the wind,
eyes to the fields;
who was he?

I stood there on that rock.
I faced that wind.
I looked on those fields.

And finally,
away from the walls and fog,
I saw the stones,
they were crying out.
I felt the wind,
it was full with the Spirit.
I witnessed the fields,
they were ripe for harvest.

That man who lived for me,
who I told I will live for him,
said, "See the rocks and the fields?
My wind will be your supply. Go."