From the mountain I can see
vistas of dreadful beauty,
exploits of unspeakable charity
broken winged souls help each other fly.
In all these I perceive
pale projections of divinity.
Down on the plain
I delight in little theophanies,
God shots, moments of grace,
stop me up short serendipities
when suddenly someone shimmers
with God’s borrowed light.
Everywhere I meet creatures
with the Creator at their core
and see me in their mirror
and discover that we are one.
In moments of mysticism we shine
with the unborrowed light of the Son.
My hope this poem is a helpful Sunday reflection for you. Let me know your thoughts and thanks for a heart or a comment. If you want to give this poem a home with a friend, use the share button.
Images courtesy of WikiMedia Commons
This Sunday, March 1, is our first Sunday of the month discussion of February’s favorite poem, Work of Art, the Ash Wednesday poem.
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