On the road to Damascus, throngs of lost souls
trudge toward the old gates,
followed by a bitter Pharisee
whose face was stern and eyes firm,
emboldened with murderous thoughts
for disciples of the new Way.

His only purpose as a keeper of law
was to drive the cult from his holy lands.

Then suddenly, the heavens thundered.
A flashing rift tore across the sky
and every step he took sent shudders up his legs his knees buckled as the light intensified.

Falling to the earth, he trembled in fear,
stuttering, with dust on his lips, he forgot his rage.  And his men, frozen behind him, were stunned by the voice erupting from the golden silence.

"Why?  Why do you persecute me?"

The love and severity of divine love overwhelmed his besieged heart as he cried streams of grief aware of his ignorance at last.

Scraping his body off the cold ground, he could see nothing, especially the path of pride he left behind, and speechless, he staggered into the city, eyes burning, blind with spirit.

For three days he sat weeping, praying for redemption, fasting deeply to know the source of purity that stirred his soul.

But in blindness, he learned to see farther than ever before, elated with mystical vision.

When a disciple entered to touch his eyes, his sight returned, but he did not see the same world, nor feel the familiar emptiness welling inside.  

He never recovered his old faith in the law again, and boldly took up the cross,
the symbol of a new age of spiritual unity, 
and became a humble messenger, astonishing those who heard his words of grace.

They poured from his mouth like a bubbling spring in the deep wilderness, long hidden,
but finally discovered.