New Wineskins

The old, relaxed; we pour ourselves a glass. There is no need to stretch or change our way. We know the flavors here; the only task: ensuring it is just like yesterday. Like sediment, this attitude does weigh; we lie immobile, deign to be disturbed, exchange bouquet for residual gray, our appetite for joy, completely curbed, our thoughts reserved to naught but that which is deserved. Thus, when it comes along, we’re unprepared; our skins are too inflexible to grow. The thought of making room just leaves us scared, so we eschew the new for what we know. That which does not comport, we must forego, and in this way, we struggle to survive; our aging, brittle walls, like Jericho, must be torn down to breathe, to come alive, for we were meant to stretch, that we might truly thrive. A leopard cannot shed its spots alone; a dried out husk cannot make itself new. The old man must be utter overthrown before with new wine he can be imbued. The old skin, by a Word, banished from view, no longer to restrict and much annoy; a transformation occurs through and through: the old man dead, a child of God, a boy who bubbles forth in endless, effervescent joy. ---------- Musings on Matthew 9:17 These are Spenserian Stanzas, 10A:10B:10A:10B:10B:10C:10B:10C:12C