In praise of the Song of Songs
How beautiful, how sensuous, how disturbing this piece of biblical text is, full of longing and dark violence and tremendous need? My fingers dripped with liquid myrrh, on the handles of the lock. Love, Susie x
2 I was asleep, but my heart was awake.
It is the voice of my beloved who knocks:
"Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled;
for my head is filled with dew,
and my hair with the dampness of the night."
3 I have taken off my robe. Indeed, must I put it on?
I have washed my feet. Indeed, must I soil them?
4 My beloved thrust his hand in through the latch opening.
My heart pounded for him.
5 I rose up to open for my beloved.
My hands dripped with myrrh,
my fingers with liquid myrrh,
on the handles of the lock.
6 I opened to my beloved;
but my beloved left; and had gone away.
My heart went out when he spoke.
I looked for him, but I didn’t find him.
I called him, but he didn’t answer.
7 The watchmen who go about the city found me.
They beat me.
They bruised me.
The keepers of the walls took my cloak away from me.
8 I adjure you, daughters of Jerusalem,
If you find my beloved,
that you tell him that I am faint with love.
Song of Songs 5:2