1 Cor 12: Diamond

By Caroline Mosey


Could our Savior 

be inside us

and above us, 

all the same? 


If He’s anything, 

He’s with us. 

It’s embedded 

in His name. 


But He’s more 

than simply with us; 

He is buried in our chest. 

He’s our brightest part--

our purest heart,

the rhythm 

of our breath. 


He’s the radiance of Zion 

Scattered wide 

across the sea. 

Every piece of Him 

a diamond 

hidden in humanity. 


Now to Him 

who buries diamonds

and who writes The Symphony--

To Him who weaves 

the thread of glory 

into you and me.

To Him who spins the gold 

inside the castle 

of the soul.

To Him who scatters pieces 

of a most 

exquisite Whole. 


We hear the call 

you’ve issued 

and we’ve heard 

the Voice Divine.

You are my Diamond-Planter, 

but my diamond 

isn’t mine.

It’s part of something greater, 

something bigger you’ve designed,

refracting all the colors 

of a realm we’ve yet to find. 


The realm the prophets spoke of 

and the Witness Cloud professed.

The one we can’t see 

with our eyes 

but burns inside 

our chest. 

The realm we’re trained to fight into 

 and feel compelled to step into

 and know that we were born to do

 our part to make it real. 


This man

he gets the clearest eyes 

and uses them to see

what’s wrong, what’s right, 

what’s left, what’s right

and now 

he’s telling me. 


You, Sir, 

you hear words differently.

Your hearing’s 

not like ours.

Could you translate 

to our table

from the Language of the Stars? 


That woman’sfeeling premonitions

stronger than we could.

So my destiny,

relay to me,

And point me 

at the Good. 


The diamond in that little girl

is heavy with her faith,

an anchor in the wavering 

the rest of us will face. 


And you

you’ve got the static 

in your hands we need tonight.

Your diamond 

holds the healing 

from the One 

who makes things right. 


But there’s dirt 

on top of diamonds 

and we think 

they’re ours to keep.

Then wonder why 

the Brotherhood

stays limping, 



We hold our diamonds tighter,

all our knuckles 

turning white.

Or we never dig 

to find them

and expose them 

to the light.


Our restlessness increases

When our gifts 

are left obscured. 

They stagnate 

til we’re sick

But I’ve heard diamonds 

are the cure. 

Encapsulating light and magic


 and green 

 and blue.

The rock that 

sharpens steel

And pulls the Kingdom 

into view. 


So pick your shovels 

up and dig 

until you hit the Truth.

‘Cause what you find in there

might be meant 

more for me

than you. 


Then we’ll raise 

our glasses higher 

to the Wholeness 

found above--

To our Reconnector, 

Gem Collector,

Source of Lasting Love. 

To the Slayer of Division

and the Banisher of Shame

To the Alchemist,

the Strategist

who reconstructs The Game. 


And we, 

as One,

but many,

waxing holier to say,

“I need your light, 

and you 

need mine.”

The purest Namaste.