“In contemplation God teaches the soul very quietly and secretly, without its knowing how, without the sound of words” (Chapter 39, The Spiritual Canticle).
In the spirit of St. John of the Cross, this blog reflects on the contemplative experience and the poetic experience, sometimes separately and distinctly, sometimes in common, as mutually enlightening.
I will also post to this blog, from time to time, my own poetry, with a short interpretive note attached.
~ Fr. Bonaventure Sauer, OCD
Mon, Dec 10 2018
~while in the woods at Marylake
Oh, what a wide-eyed hive
Of God’s teeming masses hastens
Towards me and away. I’m trying
To piece them together,
But what a tangle of bent and brawling light,
These bodies iridescent as glass.
Each has its own purpose, yet
All a common purpose—to lapse back
Into chaos, then break forth again,
Volcanically, issuing cries of rebirth
And fashioning of themselves a flock as sharp
And gritty as a desert wind.
Things may have changed little since the days
Of that first throng of
Newborn, all those who long ago
Unfurled bewilderment to the ceaseless
Hunger of birds. But this mob
Of dragonflies delighting me today
Has evolved considerably, surpassing its
Ancestors in love of dance,
Where every hesitation allowed
Breeze or cloud
Falls like a booster rocket unbuckled
In flight as off to the stars we go.
My amazement branches out. Even
The idea of such vitality spins
Within me, flickering like a
Silver dollar in sunlight. I’m off
Through a world the size of
Whose radiance inches ever onward.
Written by Fr. Bonaventure Sauer, OCD