I HAVE NOT WRITTEN OF THE DEVASTATION

I have not written of the devastation
because it is too great to think about. It is beyond all understanding. I have not yet found in myself the stillness that can hold the notion of it.

I have not written of the devastation
because I would be speaking not of the moon, but of the finger pointing at the moon.

I have not written of the devastation
because so many hurt so much. My words would sound like a sneer, harsh and ugly; yet this is not how I would mean them.

I have not written of the devastation
because I could only offend people by saying: "This is one more proof there is no God."

I have not written of the devastation
because if there is a God, and such a God permits such pain as this, I must turn away from Him or Her or It. I choose not to associate with such a monster.

I have not written of the devastation
because I believe in sun and sound, earth, water, wind, and star dust wishing to be seed again. I believe in earth and comfort, shadow and light, water and soul, wind and everything the wind carries. Water and everything water carries. Everything borne and sheltered and shared. Light. Light and water, soul, soup of life. The sweep of the circle's arc, rising. All the stars that carry comfort, do they carry us?

I have not written of the devastation
because all things are tangled and caught and turned and woven. Braided, twined, plaited, interconnected. All things are spun and bobbed, shuttled and shoved, warped and woofed, woven. Minerals and light, light and water, water and earth, earth and life and green fuse burning. Turning, twisting, twining. All a knotted oneness. Which is the dancer, which the dance? Who is eater, who gets eaten? Who takes, who gives back?

I have not written of the devastation
because there is no beginning without ending, no ending without beginning. We all go 'round the circle; the circle goes 'round us. It is ash we are made of, all of us - mineral and vegetable and animal and human. Ash - star dust and silence. Star dust and silence waiting to be seed again, waiting to be hope. We should rise up and sing "Tomorrow is where we were; tomorrow is where we're going."

I have not written of the devastation
because it is too great to think about. It is beyond all understanding. I have not yet found in myself the stillness that can hold the notion of it.

All the stars that carry comfort, do they carry us?

Comments

[suzanne]

Tom___

yes

[Dave]

"The silence of God is God." - Elie Wiesel

Nice shot at *imitatio dei*, my friend.

[BethW.]

I think that's why I have been writing about wrens, robins and just those things right in front of my eyes.

[susurra]

I really identify with this. I'm glad you captured it on a page and shared it. Because even if you feel it is too great to comprehend, it is someone who has captured the detail of daily living as you have who is best suited to help us understand what too great to comprehend means. Even with all the pain that goes with it. Thanks Tom.

[Ross]

This is beautiful, Tom.