~ Two poems ~
The first helps us keep in
mind the big picture, God's expansive vision for all creation.
The second
reminds us that God is also in the details, the daily nourishment of
our selves.
A
Nearsighted Theory of God - By Victor
Klimoski
If there is a God, such power
exceeds glib explanation,
a borrowed vocabulary.
Efforts to nail God to a wall
like the head of a prized antelope
end up in disappointment.
Ancients, stirred by the idea of God,
found their text on the horizon
under the depthless dome of the sky.
For they knew in a near-sighted way,
the clearest signs would be found
in what was not close at hand.
In joy or sorrow, life or death,
human hearts divine mystery
under vast star-painted skies.
So read the guidebooks as you will
knowing their limits to tell it full.
Then step outdoors, look far.
At Blackwater Pond By Mary Oliver
At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain.
I dip my cupped hands. I drink
a long time. It tastes
like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold into my body, waking the bones. I hear them deep
inside me, whispering oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?
If there is a God, such power
exceeds glib explanation,
a borrowed vocabulary.
Efforts to nail God to a wall
like the head of a prized antelope
end up in disappointment.
Ancients, stirred by the idea of God,
found their text on the horizon
under the depthless dome of the sky.
For they knew in a near-sighted way,
the clearest signs would be found
in what was not close at hand.
In joy or sorrow, life or death,
human hearts divine mystery
under vast star-painted skies.
So read the guidebooks as you will
knowing their limits to tell it full.
Then step outdoors, look far.
At Blackwater Pond By Mary Oliver
At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain.
I dip my cupped hands. I drink
a long time. It tastes
like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold into my body, waking the bones. I hear them deep
inside me, whispering oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?