The little fish asked the other little fish “which way to the ocean?”
You see they were lost fish and thought they had to find where to go,
someone answered, with precision;
they thought it was from God, but it was the wolf.
The others were busy celebrating where they were,
Running, clapping, cheering,
happy fish of all sizes and shapes.
But the lost fish were bottling up the messages of the wolf,
Messages baking from thoughts to passions until
at high temperature, wicked trickery, offered them it all but with a price;
eternal salvation by hurting others.
The little fish didn’t see this message was not from God, but from the other.
Minds jam packed with nails, explosives, they put them in a pressure cooker,
An instrument of peace to prepare loving, sharing meals,
is suddenly filled with thoughts and materials no maker never imagined.
Until at last, it is transformed into a fire breathing dragon,
Spitting nails and foul exploding parts to all around them.
The other fish do not hear a call from heaven, but the sound of hell.
Lives once run with direction, now stop. Where to go. What to do.
For a moment, confusion reigns; a world instantly orderless;
Then, as sudden as the trumpet of the devil, it is drowned by deafening silence of compassion,
as fish shower love, blankets, water, medicine and comfort,
on all those in need.
Which is everyone.
A catholic priest walks 2 miles with a lost runner to keep her company,
Ambulances full of helpers, rip towards hospitals,
Filling holes and removing evil from innocent flesh.
The world is Boston that afternoon.
The two little fish are cheered on by the wolf,
“I am well pleased with your work, continue.”
But the other fish look for them and end their journey.
Now many of the other fish that weren’t looking for the ocean ask:
“Which way to the ocean?”
Copyright 2013 Michael J. Cunningham
Daily prayers and meditations 