Trickle Drops

Trickle drops! my blue veins leaving!
O drops of me! trickle, slow drops,
Candid from me falling, drip, bleeding drops,
From wounds made to free you whence you were
prison’d,
From my face, from my forehead and lips,
From my breast, from within where I was
conceal’d, press forth red drops,
confession drops,
Stain every page, stain every song I sing, every
word I say, bloody drops,
Let them know your scarlet heat, let them glisten,
Saturate them with yourself all ashamed and wet,
Glow upon all I have written or shall write,
bleeding drops,
Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops.
-Walt Whitman

It has still been slow at the restaurant so lately I’ve been bringing a book of poems by Walt Whitman. The other day I came across this poem and I have been thinking about it ever since. Like any good poem, the meaning is somewhat hidden and obscured while at the same time clear as the morning sun.
When I first read it, I was thinking about Jesus. His blood that he shed was for me, for you, for all of us. I though of Jesus, pouring out himself for us. These ‘confession drops’ were somewhat concealed, then flowed out to free us from our own prison. Just like his blood was held before it was freed, so we were held in need of being freed from a prison of our own making. And these drops glow upon all that we write, thing, sing and speak. They color our world.
As I kept reading, however, I started thinking that maybe Whitman simply meant to speak of himself. Could it be that Whitman saw in the common experience of bleeding something more than we think of? I pictured him watching blood leave his own body. As he bled, he realized that a part of his own self was leaving. It was like a confession because our blood is as true and basic a part of who we are as anything else.
Then I was reading the first chapter of John this morning and I saw this statement: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us”. Jesus lived in our skin. His blood was like our blood. He lived like we live. The reason his blood is so precious- the reason it saturates our experience- is because of who he is.
Jesus made us and then he made himself like us. I want to worship like Walt Whitman here. Let it all be seen in the light of his precious blood, the bleeding drops, falling for you and me. For all of us.