Blackbird has Spoken

I woke up this morning and thought, "THIS is the image of God? If You say so, Jesus."

I bet on that first morning in the Garden of Eden, when Eve first showed up, she was looking the part. I bet she was lovely, with thick, rich hair that smelled clean and new. And I bet the air was so clean, that the scent of it stayed with Adam all day.

But that's a far cry from this morning, let me tell you. This morning is just full of yesterday's leftovers.

And nothing against Cat Stevens, whom I adore, or against the original writer of the hymn, but this morning did not break like the first morning.

The first morning must have broken open gently, tremulously, like an eggshell hatching or a flower breaking open for the first time.

This morning broke like that morning not so long after the first one. That morning when Adam and Eve found themselves outside the gates of Eden. That morning broke like a family heirloom falling off the mantle. That morning broke like a mirror, into a thousand little pieces. And Adam and Eve, and we, we are still trying to find the shards, so that we can see ourselves for what we looked like when the mirror was whole, when we really were God's image.

I think it is that sound, that shattering of a mirror, that is still ringing in my ears.