The Pursuit of Wisdom

Most words are just there,

In my head or on the page

From an unknown or forgotten

Story, poem or conversation

But ‘tessellate’ will always return me to a moment in time:

1996, January 1st about 2 am, London

1The end of the party fun. (We were young)

More people than beds,

Many tired heads

So we had to explore

Ways to bring comfort

To the living room floor

So the cushions came off

Every chair, every sofa – bare

A big, chaotic pile of soft furnishing

And someone said, ‘let’s make them tessellate.’

’You what mate?’

‘TessellateIt’s my favourite word!’

‘Absurd, never heard of it! What does it mean?’

‘This…’

They took the cushions

And like giant jigsaw puzzle pieces

Made them fit snugly together

Finding ways their curves and corners

Belonged with the swerves and swoops of others.

And from the higgedly piggedly pile

A mattress with style

The sleeping bags unfurled

And as my eyes closed, and I drifted to sleep, The word tessellate echoed on repeat. Tessellate. Tessellate. (yawn)

Tess – e – llate

That’s what God-self does

Father, Spirit, Son

Tessellate

So three are one

And we are made in their image

A community of many

With odd lumps and bumps,

Strange corners and curves

That fit snugly together

An image of the singular, multiple divine…

That’s the heavenly version,

The vision of God’s people

Perfectly harmonious

Interdependent

And centred on God.

But there’s the rub – The centred on God

Essential for the pattern

Otherwise we are all odd.

If I am centred far from divine,

Each curve, each corner and line

Will slowly mutate

Away from their Godly imaged state

If I’m centred on romance or power or money

My shape changes

My place re-arranges

My curves wibble wrongly

My balance goes funny

With God, my home is with my Father in heaven

But if my home is my house

I’ll make my life fit around

Keeping the bricks and the grass and the windows and floors

Making sure I’m safe behind it’s doors

My corners and curves will be bent out of shape

With God, my love is Jesus

But if my love is another

I’ll make my life fit around

Their wants, their needs,

My shape will be changed

By each of those deeds

With God, power is the Holy Spirit

But if I seek power from any other source

I’ll make my life fit around

Seeking more, and more and more

Worldly power that will warp my shape

Away from it’s Godly imaged state

And the more into the wrong things I lean

The less able to stand alone I become

My gravity centred outside of myselfI stumble

I spin

I tumble

I fall

It happens to us all

Our focus away from God

We walk the path Eve and Adam trod

From blissful intimacy

To evicted suddenly

In sin

We fall

Bumpy and lumpy and all out of shape

We are like a chaotic heap

Like the couple turfed out of the garden

Like the pharaoh when plagues cost him his son

Like the prophet who ended up in a fish

Like the disciple that betrayed with a kiss

In sin

We fall

And without God’s glory

That would be the end of the story

Because the glory of God is the cross

The glory of God is our sins in the tomb

The glory of God is Christ’s resurrectionIn which we find forgiveness & restoration

Restoration to our God given shape

Restoration to our Godly centre

Restoration to the curves and swerves that God gave us

Restoration to the shape and place God made us

Restoration to the image of

Father, Spirit, Son

That tessellate

So three are one

Restored to God’s image we are

A community of many

With odd lumps and bumps,

Strange corners and curves

That fit snugly together

An image of the singular, multiple divine…

The fulfillment of jubilee.

Sonya Doragh January 2025