Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Monday, December 4, 2017

Glory be

Glory be to God for dappled things--
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise Him.”
                              Gerard Manley Hopkins

there are black and white moments
when all seems set in stone

this or that
all or nothing

but the Sacred

and the beauty that is past change
that last golden leaf
that golden grass flocked with ice

and from that beauty come the hope
if not the certainty

that there is something
bigger, deeper, stronger
sweeter, faster

than what we can see
or grasp
bigger than our fear, our rigidity
our greed


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