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THE PROMISED ONE
From her vantage point on Winward Road, Patrice stood in the light rain waiting for the official limousine to reach this section of the city. Her heart was beating wildly as she glanced around at the crowd of people, who had also gathered, to see the 225th King of Ethiopia, an unbroken line, going back to the time of King Soloman.
Office workers, shop keepers, parents and children lined the street, next to Rasta. Everyday, ordinary citizens had come to see the Emperor...
.....those old enough to remember Marcus Garvey's prophecy, , "Look to Africa for the crowning of a black King, he shall be the Redeemer." ...
.....and those too young to understand the importance of this visit... just enjoying a few hours reprive from school or work... and the promise of a celebration later.
When the Governor-General's limousine rounded the corner, a loud cheer began, as the whole massive pressed forward... and Patrice held her breath, waiting for her first glimpse of the 'Conquering Lion of Judah'.
According to Rastafarian teachings, the scriptures phrophecied the 'Spirt of God' as one with 'the hair of whose head was like wool , whose feet were like unto burning brass', and yes, the Emperor fit this description, but Patrice was not impressed.
'How dem seh disyah man soh great', she muttered, 'cho... im small like pickney.'
Expecting the only man on earth, who could gather them from their captivity and bring them into Zion, to be a lion of a man himself, Patrice was greatly disappointed by his painfully small stature.
He certainly is regal-looking, she mused, glancing at the large array of metals and seals, hanging from the whole of his right chest of his crisp military coat, shoulder to breast pocket... a starch white shirt peered from beneath, a simple tie, squared neatly at it's collar.
Patrice strained forward from the crowd, trying to get a closer look. Praying for divine guidance to an overstanding of the truth, she had made a secret pact with herself. If she saw a sign today, she would be ready to accept the divine status of Haile Selassie.
At that exact moment, sun light flashed from a striking gold emblem, drawing Patrice's attention to his tall army hat. It's wide black brim, encircled by a deep red band, was perched low over his eyes.
'Jah-Jah come over I&I' Patrice whispered, before stepping out onto the street. Just as, the one promised from the House of David, raised his face, and looked directly into her eyes.
Lines of weariness, cast a shadow, on the angular face and hawkish nose, framed by a close-clipped beard and moustache. But patience and compassion, filled his dark eyes, as the practiced politician lifted his arm and waved in her direction.
A small cry escaped her parted lips, as Patrice stared into his open palm and saw the sign. A distance memory, from the scriptures of history, rushed over her reasoning... sparking a connection that could identify that mark;
'When you see him, you will know him by the nail-print in his hands.'
Patrice felt her heart stop. Then spiritual joy, raise her soul off the ground... shortly before... only darkness.
[This message has been edited by Lacy (edited 10-09-2001).]
From her vantage point on Winward Road, Patrice stood in the light rain waiting for the official limousine to reach this section of the city. Her heart was beating wildly as she glanced around at the crowd of people, who had also gathered, to see the 225th King of Ethiopia, an unbroken line, going back to the time of King Soloman.
Office workers, shop keepers, parents and children lined the street, next to Rasta. Everyday, ordinary citizens had come to see the Emperor...
.....those old enough to remember Marcus Garvey's prophecy, , "Look to Africa for the crowning of a black King, he shall be the Redeemer." ...
.....and those too young to understand the importance of this visit... just enjoying a few hours reprive from school or work... and the promise of a celebration later.
When the Governor-General's limousine rounded the corner, a loud cheer began, as the whole massive pressed forward... and Patrice held her breath, waiting for her first glimpse of the 'Conquering Lion of Judah'.
According to Rastafarian teachings, the scriptures phrophecied the 'Spirt of God' as one with 'the hair of whose head was like wool , whose feet were like unto burning brass', and yes, the Emperor fit this description, but Patrice was not impressed.
'How dem seh disyah man soh great', she muttered, 'cho... im small like pickney.'
Expecting the only man on earth, who could gather them from their captivity and bring them into Zion, to be a lion of a man himself, Patrice was greatly disappointed by his painfully small stature.
He certainly is regal-looking, she mused, glancing at the large array of metals and seals, hanging from the whole of his right chest of his crisp military coat, shoulder to breast pocket... a starch white shirt peered from beneath, a simple tie, squared neatly at it's collar.
Patrice strained forward from the crowd, trying to get a closer look. Praying for divine guidance to an overstanding of the truth, she had made a secret pact with herself. If she saw a sign today, she would be ready to accept the divine status of Haile Selassie.
At that exact moment, sun light flashed from a striking gold emblem, drawing Patrice's attention to his tall army hat. It's wide black brim, encircled by a deep red band, was perched low over his eyes.
'Jah-Jah come over I&I' Patrice whispered, before stepping out onto the street. Just as, the one promised from the House of David, raised his face, and looked directly into her eyes.
Lines of weariness, cast a shadow, on the angular face and hawkish nose, framed by a close-clipped beard and moustache. But patience and compassion, filled his dark eyes, as the practiced politician lifted his arm and waved in her direction.
A small cry escaped her parted lips, as Patrice stared into his open palm and saw the sign. A distance memory, from the scriptures of history, rushed over her reasoning... sparking a connection that could identify that mark;
'When you see him, you will know him by the nail-print in his hands.'
Patrice felt her heart stop. Then spiritual joy, raise her soul off the ground... shortly before... only darkness.
[This message has been edited by Lacy (edited 10-09-2001).]
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Still sick Lacy? (((Lacy)))
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