Words that Burn

"Only thoughts that breathe in words that burn,
Can kindle the spark slumbering in the heart of another."
-Orison Sweet Marden from "Pushing to the Front" 1911

"For I am full of words; the spirit within me compels me.
Indeed my belly is like wine that has no vent;
it is ready to burst like new wineskins.

I will speak, that I may find relief;
I must open my lips and answer.
-Job 32:18-20

I love the book of Job, even though it's primary tale is tragic and produces a nervous anxiety in me.
"God isn't safe but He is good" C.S. Lewis wrote.

Life is far more mystery than anything else, and the book of Job though it pulls back the curtain to show a bit of light behind the scenes; is still quite a complicated drama that leaves one with more questions than answers.

But I think one of the things that intrigues me the most is the wild circle of hot debate;
that is found among Job and his friends.

Passionate opinions and fiery accusations are sparking off the pages.
Men wrestling with God and each other...true Jacobs.
You can almost hear the hissing of hot pokers sinking into flesh in their interchanges.
Sparks are flying, veins are popping, eyes are smoldering.
Propriety and manners are thrown to the wind; as the deep cauldron of emotion boils up out of the depths of human misery and confusion!

The heart and the mind like a well forged hammer; raining down blows on the hardened steel anvils of friends souls.

A circle of men, a gathering of minds, a war of words...Ah what delight...What danger!

Most of our gatherings are void of such passion, frankness and clear opinions.

We are sissies, mamas boys who can't handle oppositions, conviction and contrary winds.

We want smooth waters not making waves.
Safe and predictable clear skies not stormy seas potent with power enough to fling us to farther ports.

We want soft and quiet words fit for tender minds and fragile hearts.
We want the power of lightning without the frightening thunder.
And we wonder why people sleep in our gatherings...

Where are those who can speak, write, sing with such a blade that with a few sharp slices...
we are left bleeding on the floor and begging for more?

In job I find such a reality and it makes me long for more dangerous conversations.
More open friends, more people with bellies full of fermenting wine.

I think life would be more sweet to drink but for now... I read.