A Cage To Hold My Dreams
The Creation--A Journey Through Time
Before the creation there was nothing.
Neither time nor space,
neither heaven nor hell
Only the God of all nature existed
The Divine Person
without life-form which cannot
be explained by mortal logic,
yet which knew no beginning
and shall have no end.
Then from deep inside this perpetual
darkness, this absolute void,
came a penetrating roar,
splitting the eardrums of heaven,
and the sound of a mighty storm,
the birth-agony of time,
the beginning of existence,
so wondrous yet terrifying
and afterwards everything
trembled and fell silent.
Then came the light, strong and
intense, arcing from the delta
of creation, anointing all creatures
with life-invoking spirit and energy.
Whereupon God,
the source of all miracles,
the solution to all mysteries,
the lawmaker supreme,
surveyed his work and selected
a small star from the vast numbers
he had created, to receive
a special bounty.
To those born upon this star
it became known as earth.
And what an earth it is !
Step onto a headland splintered
by heavy seas and
feel the pulse of God.
Hear the drag of pebbles and rocks
in its savage undertow, knowing
that you are one clumsy step
away from death.
Climb a hilltop in the spring,
a time of sweet laughter
and sudden tears, as the green land
below you towels itself down
between showers. Lay back in
a fragrant orchard at mid-day
and enjoy the music of
a thousand flutes in expert hands.
But this proud, sanguine universe
did not create itself, so from whence
came such perfect order,
grandeur and symmetry ?
Most parts of creation
are inter-dependent, linked one
to the other. Sometimes the greatest
and the humblest need to cling
together for survival.
Stored beneath the earth's surface
are lethal oceans of liquid fire,
and upon it, vast salt water storage
tanks. Should they meet,
should the thin crust dividing them
fracture, a terrifying fury, the equal
of a million fiery volcanoes
would be unleashed.
The distances between sun, earth
and moon are finely calculated
and constant. Any variation would
be calamitous.
If the earth were closer to the sun,
we would be drawn onto it.
If further away, we should
disappear beneath huge glaciers.
If the moon came near,
monstrous waves would engulf
the mountains and if it moved off,
the waves would stop,
seawater would turn to poison.
But who subdues the hurricane,
who calms the storm,
who harmonises the seasons
and controls the terrifying forces
of nature ? Who keeps the sun,
moon, and earth in place
and disciplines their behaviour ?
None other than he who allows
frost to look great on window-panes
but not to freeze the blood.
None other than he who wraps
the earth in cool air and
rain-clouds so that it will not
scorch our feet.
Although at times we shiver
in the cold and complain angrily of
the heat, we know that
our Lord God of the universe,
the creator of our souls
who makes all things possible,
will protect us and hold nature
accountable for its actions.
It is no accident that God's simplest
creations are among his most
enchanting. To left and right
he arranges his place-cards on
the dining table of eternity.
Wonder at the legions of stars as
they glide through a moonful night
with the poise and charm of
a ballet school.
But look also at the woodlands
near the end of a mild October
get ready for winter,
exchanging their bright reds
and greens for restful shades of
russet brown and yellow.
See the leaves fly before the wind,
watch them swirl and spin
and fall gently to earth like
the landing of fairies.
See spring eagerly thrust open
the prison doors of winter and
skip into the sunlight, free at last,
tie undone, ready for anything,
bounding with energy and mischief
like a small boy let out of school.
Gaze at the heather-clad,
flint-coloured mountains
where heaven and earth drink
from the same cup,
where horizon and sky sit
at ease with one another,
gossiping like two old soldiers
on a park bench.
Examine a single flower. Where else
will you find such precision ?
Marvel at the intricasies
of a spider's web. Feast your eyes
on the harvest-ready fields
soaking up the sun, listening for
the rattle of a farm-tractor.
Hear the laughter of the sea,
the crooning of the wind,
the melody of summer,
the patter of raindrops,
the excited voices of small children
and the peal of church bells,
as sacred as prayer,
merging with the lazy sounds
and long shadows of evening.
Let us exalt and glorify our maker
and in turn applaud the curiosity
and energy of our ancestors,
the rock-breakers, the carpenters,
the visionaries, the scientists
who blended the power of
the sun and sea into the rich,
simmering casserole of life.
But not only in grandeur is the
creator of the universe to be found.
His handprint is on the ordinary
as well as the spectacular.
He lives with the pale ghosts
of the night sky and in the damp,
chestnut-brown soil of the grave.
He swims with starfish and flies
with kestrels. You will see him in the
giant smokestacks of the east,
in the cattle ranches of the mid-west.
You will see him in any English
seaside town in mid-winter,
alone on the deserted beach,
hands in pockets, collar turned
up against the biting wind.
You will find him in New Orleans,
in the sonnets of Shakespeare,
in the music of Mahler, in pictures
from life's other side which we
stumble across in attics,
reminding us there were times
when everyone we loved was
alive, and no shadow ever fell
across our laughter or our fun.
But how little we appreciate
this Lord God of all creation,
this patron of history, this hope
that shall ever last, who fuels
the spring-seeking sun and
polishes the diamond heavens.
Men of different lands and cultures,
long before travel, without
bidding or proof, independently
conceived the idea of a God
as their maker and saviour.
In the skies, they saw his face,
in the water they drank they tasted
his goodness and fell astonished
to their knees. In their simple
minds, and mine, too,
faith has a persuasive logic,
and belief in God appeals more
than the idea that we were sired
by accident or catastrophe.
The bible tells us that he is
the God of compassion
who said to Abraham as he was
about to sacrifice his son,
'Stop, harm him not,
for yours is as great a love
for me as I shall find anywhere
on earth.'
As a reward for his devotion,
Abraham was told,
'Your descendants shall be
multiplied as the stars
in heaven and the sands
along the seashore.'
He is the God of mercy who said
to Moses 'My face you cannot
see for no man who sees me
can continue to live. Only by
my works shall I be known.'
And on Mount Sinai where
the commandments were handed
down, when Moses beheld
the glory of God in the mountains
and valleys of his homeland,
his skin glowed and his spirit
was elated.
He is the God of miracles who
dwelt in Eliseus as he stood over
the dead son of the Sunmanite
woman at Mount Carmel.
And at his touch, the boy's eyes
opened, his flesh lost its coldness,
he awoke as if from a deep sleep,
and his mother praised the name
of Eliseus, through whom
the power of God had passed.
He is the God of compassion
who told Tobias,
'Turn your face not from
the poor or the needy.
Reserve your distain for
the arrogant and the worldly
wise. Do, therefore,
unto others as you would
see done to yourself.'
Is there a demon-figure, I wonder,
who exploits my weaknesses,
challenges my beliefs,
tempts and then ridicules me
when I pause long enough
to give her encouragement ?
Yes, she exists, the devil-creature
in all of us ; in my mind, more
beautiful than the sky at night,
sliding her moist, soft tongue
between my lips, seductive and
dangerous, but her promises,
like her triumphs, vanish like
ripples on a lake, because
we have learnt our lesson
and are no longer fooled
by her faithless kisses.
For every thief behind bars,
thousands of good people,
physicians, missionaries, and
benefactors bring help
and hope to the badly-needing.
Every act of meanness has its
contradiction in great kindness.
Every victim of injustice shall see
the scales move when the creator
reaches down his hand.
How fickle and unrewarding
would be the desires of man
without the sure hand
of providence.
God is the fountain of pure love
and every blade of grass
puts us deeper in his debt.
But the crowning moment
of creation came when the first
human child was born.
Before then, giant beasts with
thick hides and breath of fire,
had roamed freely and killed
by tooth and claw.
Before human life, the earth was
hostile and without hope.
Man came on earth to drain
the swamp and tame the savage,
to think and improvise,
to serve others, and to climb the
stairway of knowledge
And in that first man-child, God
made the most unique and exciting
and beautiful of earth-beings.
Into each new handful of dust
he put something of the creatures
that flew and swam
and floated in the air,
and then added a touch of
the land and the seas to make us
truly earth-belonging.
Every scrap of life is a triumph,
from the humblest insect
to the lords of the jungle,
but the cheetah does not turn his
speed into ideas, the eagle cannot
invent machines or write sonnets.
The brain of man is God's noblest
invention.
Man lives to love and through
loving he re-creates his own kind.
Is not the happiness in the eyes of
a young mother the most infectious
joy on earth ? See her spirit,
her yearnings, her very life change
and mould to her divine task.
See the qualities of tenderness,
courage and self-sacrifice rise
from the core of her womanhood
to keep her child safe.
Woe to the thief or intruder
who comes near her young,
for he shall feel the fury of
the tornado and have killer-dogs
snarling at his heels.
Our awakening on earth is part
of creation but not its beginning,
and dying is not its end. Death is the
harbour of still waters at the end
of our mortal journey, where the
sails are forever lowered
and the ropes hang motionless
and silent.
But why is the infinite wonder of
the universe, the subtlety and
charm of the stars ours for only
forty or fifty adult summers ?
After the billions of years taken to
adapt the earth as a fit place for
us to live, why does God insist
that we depart it so soon ?
Because, I believe, nothing is lost
when we die. Death merely
loosens our ties with this earth,
it rests our tired hearts,
opens the prison door, escorts us
to unimaginable freedom,
it is not to be feared.
To the soul of a decent man,
death is of no more relevance
than a feather dancing on
a warm, south-westerly breeze.
By dying, our links with mother
earth are not lost, they are
beautified beyond belief.
The love we knew we retain still,
the love we gave to one another
continues to be given, passing
unseen as we whisper to them
in their dreams, as we alert them
to hidden dangers, as we steer
them towards good purposes.
The love between man and woman
does not fail at the grave.
I believe it is continuous,
the ardour and folly of youth,
the wingless flight of love's first
discovery, the heaviness of heart
when one of the two is forced
to break the journey.
True love is the genesis of all
tender thought,
timeless and inspiring,
love-beauty gladdens the eye,
soothes the temper, and blesses
everyone whom it touches.
Each season powerfully reminds
us of the miracle of creation.
Spring snaps at the heels
of moody, petulant winter,
spraying woodlands with buds
and berries and gentle rain,
quickening the heartbeat of life.
Newborn birds, blind and helpless,
thrust upwards their hungry beaks,
so tiny, so frail, squawking, jostling,
hoping the mother-bird is at hand,
less than a day outside the shell
and already drawn into
the fierce, uneven struggle for life.
Summer mornings arrive to
a fanfare of trumpets and love
songs, honey flows, nature smiles,
and heaven relaxes.
Autumn brings the ripe colours
of haymaking, and shortens
the evenings as the year,
having spent its energy, heads for
the log fire and some
well-deserved peace and quiet.
Ballymacrown 290304
Neither time nor space,
neither heaven nor hell
Only the God of all nature existed
The Divine Person
without life-form which cannot
be explained by mortal logic,
yet which knew no beginning
and shall have no end.
Then from deep inside this perpetual
darkness, this absolute void,
came a penetrating roar,
splitting the eardrums of heaven,
and the sound of a mighty storm,
the birth-agony of time,
the beginning of existence,
so wondrous yet terrifying
and afterwards everything
trembled and fell silent.
Then came the light, strong and
intense, arcing from the delta
of creation, anointing all creatures
with life-invoking spirit and energy.
Whereupon God,
the source of all miracles,
the solution to all mysteries,
the lawmaker supreme,
surveyed his work and selected
a small star from the vast numbers
he had created, to receive
a special bounty.
To those born upon this star
it became known as earth.
And what an earth it is !
Step onto a headland splintered
by heavy seas and
feel the pulse of God.
Hear the drag of pebbles and rocks
in its savage undertow, knowing
that you are one clumsy step
away from death.
Climb a hilltop in the spring,
a time of sweet laughter
and sudden tears, as the green land
below you towels itself down
between showers. Lay back in
a fragrant orchard at mid-day
and enjoy the music of
a thousand flutes in expert hands.
But this proud, sanguine universe
did not create itself, so from whence
came such perfect order,
grandeur and symmetry ?
Most parts of creation
are inter-dependent, linked one
to the other. Sometimes the greatest
and the humblest need to cling
together for survival.
Stored beneath the earth's surface
are lethal oceans of liquid fire,
and upon it, vast salt water storage
tanks. Should they meet,
should the thin crust dividing them
fracture, a terrifying fury, the equal
of a million fiery volcanoes
would be unleashed.
The distances between sun, earth
and moon are finely calculated
and constant. Any variation would
be calamitous.
If the earth were closer to the sun,
we would be drawn onto it.
If further away, we should
disappear beneath huge glaciers.
If the moon came near,
monstrous waves would engulf
the mountains and if it moved off,
the waves would stop,
seawater would turn to poison.
But who subdues the hurricane,
who calms the storm,
who harmonises the seasons
and controls the terrifying forces
of nature ? Who keeps the sun,
moon, and earth in place
and disciplines their behaviour ?
None other than he who allows
frost to look great on window-panes
but not to freeze the blood.
None other than he who wraps
the earth in cool air and
rain-clouds so that it will not
scorch our feet.
Although at times we shiver
in the cold and complain angrily of
the heat, we know that
our Lord God of the universe,
the creator of our souls
who makes all things possible,
will protect us and hold nature
accountable for its actions.
It is no accident that God's simplest
creations are among his most
enchanting. To left and right
he arranges his place-cards on
the dining table of eternity.
Wonder at the legions of stars as
they glide through a moonful night
with the poise and charm of
a ballet school.
But look also at the woodlands
near the end of a mild October
get ready for winter,
exchanging their bright reds
and greens for restful shades of
russet brown and yellow.
See the leaves fly before the wind,
watch them swirl and spin
and fall gently to earth like
the landing of fairies.
See spring eagerly thrust open
the prison doors of winter and
skip into the sunlight, free at last,
tie undone, ready for anything,
bounding with energy and mischief
like a small boy let out of school.
Gaze at the heather-clad,
flint-coloured mountains
where heaven and earth drink
from the same cup,
where horizon and sky sit
at ease with one another,
gossiping like two old soldiers
on a park bench.
Examine a single flower. Where else
will you find such precision ?
Marvel at the intricasies
of a spider's web. Feast your eyes
on the harvest-ready fields
soaking up the sun, listening for
the rattle of a farm-tractor.
Hear the laughter of the sea,
the crooning of the wind,
the melody of summer,
the patter of raindrops,
the excited voices of small children
and the peal of church bells,
as sacred as prayer,
merging with the lazy sounds
and long shadows of evening.
Let us exalt and glorify our maker
and in turn applaud the curiosity
and energy of our ancestors,
the rock-breakers, the carpenters,
the visionaries, the scientists
who blended the power of
the sun and sea into the rich,
simmering casserole of life.
But not only in grandeur is the
creator of the universe to be found.
His handprint is on the ordinary
as well as the spectacular.
He lives with the pale ghosts
of the night sky and in the damp,
chestnut-brown soil of the grave.
He swims with starfish and flies
with kestrels. You will see him in the
giant smokestacks of the east,
in the cattle ranches of the mid-west.
You will see him in any English
seaside town in mid-winter,
alone on the deserted beach,
hands in pockets, collar turned
up against the biting wind.
You will find him in New Orleans,
in the sonnets of Shakespeare,
in the music of Mahler, in pictures
from life's other side which we
stumble across in attics,
reminding us there were times
when everyone we loved was
alive, and no shadow ever fell
across our laughter or our fun.
But how little we appreciate
this Lord God of all creation,
this patron of history, this hope
that shall ever last, who fuels
the spring-seeking sun and
polishes the diamond heavens.
Men of different lands and cultures,
long before travel, without
bidding or proof, independently
conceived the idea of a God
as their maker and saviour.
In the skies, they saw his face,
in the water they drank they tasted
his goodness and fell astonished
to their knees. In their simple
minds, and mine, too,
faith has a persuasive logic,
and belief in God appeals more
than the idea that we were sired
by accident or catastrophe.
The bible tells us that he is
the God of compassion
who said to Abraham as he was
about to sacrifice his son,
'Stop, harm him not,
for yours is as great a love
for me as I shall find anywhere
on earth.'
As a reward for his devotion,
Abraham was told,
'Your descendants shall be
multiplied as the stars
in heaven and the sands
along the seashore.'
He is the God of mercy who said
to Moses 'My face you cannot
see for no man who sees me
can continue to live. Only by
my works shall I be known.'
And on Mount Sinai where
the commandments were handed
down, when Moses beheld
the glory of God in the mountains
and valleys of his homeland,
his skin glowed and his spirit
was elated.
He is the God of miracles who
dwelt in Eliseus as he stood over
the dead son of the Sunmanite
woman at Mount Carmel.
And at his touch, the boy's eyes
opened, his flesh lost its coldness,
he awoke as if from a deep sleep,
and his mother praised the name
of Eliseus, through whom
the power of God had passed.
He is the God of compassion
who told Tobias,
'Turn your face not from
the poor or the needy.
Reserve your distain for
the arrogant and the worldly
wise. Do, therefore,
unto others as you would
see done to yourself.'
Is there a demon-figure, I wonder,
who exploits my weaknesses,
challenges my beliefs,
tempts and then ridicules me
when I pause long enough
to give her encouragement ?
Yes, she exists, the devil-creature
in all of us ; in my mind, more
beautiful than the sky at night,
sliding her moist, soft tongue
between my lips, seductive and
dangerous, but her promises,
like her triumphs, vanish like
ripples on a lake, because
we have learnt our lesson
and are no longer fooled
by her faithless kisses.
For every thief behind bars,
thousands of good people,
physicians, missionaries, and
benefactors bring help
and hope to the badly-needing.
Every act of meanness has its
contradiction in great kindness.
Every victim of injustice shall see
the scales move when the creator
reaches down his hand.
How fickle and unrewarding
would be the desires of man
without the sure hand
of providence.
God is the fountain of pure love
and every blade of grass
puts us deeper in his debt.
But the crowning moment
of creation came when the first
human child was born.
Before then, giant beasts with
thick hides and breath of fire,
had roamed freely and killed
by tooth and claw.
Before human life, the earth was
hostile and without hope.
Man came on earth to drain
the swamp and tame the savage,
to think and improvise,
to serve others, and to climb the
stairway of knowledge
And in that first man-child, God
made the most unique and exciting
and beautiful of earth-beings.
Into each new handful of dust
he put something of the creatures
that flew and swam
and floated in the air,
and then added a touch of
the land and the seas to make us
truly earth-belonging.
Every scrap of life is a triumph,
from the humblest insect
to the lords of the jungle,
but the cheetah does not turn his
speed into ideas, the eagle cannot
invent machines or write sonnets.
The brain of man is God's noblest
invention.
Man lives to love and through
loving he re-creates his own kind.
Is not the happiness in the eyes of
a young mother the most infectious
joy on earth ? See her spirit,
her yearnings, her very life change
and mould to her divine task.
See the qualities of tenderness,
courage and self-sacrifice rise
from the core of her womanhood
to keep her child safe.
Woe to the thief or intruder
who comes near her young,
for he shall feel the fury of
the tornado and have killer-dogs
snarling at his heels.
Our awakening on earth is part
of creation but not its beginning,
and dying is not its end. Death is the
harbour of still waters at the end
of our mortal journey, where the
sails are forever lowered
and the ropes hang motionless
and silent.
But why is the infinite wonder of
the universe, the subtlety and
charm of the stars ours for only
forty or fifty adult summers ?
After the billions of years taken to
adapt the earth as a fit place for
us to live, why does God insist
that we depart it so soon ?
Because, I believe, nothing is lost
when we die. Death merely
loosens our ties with this earth,
it rests our tired hearts,
opens the prison door, escorts us
to unimaginable freedom,
it is not to be feared.
To the soul of a decent man,
death is of no more relevance
than a feather dancing on
a warm, south-westerly breeze.
By dying, our links with mother
earth are not lost, they are
beautified beyond belief.
The love we knew we retain still,
the love we gave to one another
continues to be given, passing
unseen as we whisper to them
in their dreams, as we alert them
to hidden dangers, as we steer
them towards good purposes.
The love between man and woman
does not fail at the grave.
I believe it is continuous,
the ardour and folly of youth,
the wingless flight of love's first
discovery, the heaviness of heart
when one of the two is forced
to break the journey.
True love is the genesis of all
tender thought,
timeless and inspiring,
love-beauty gladdens the eye,
soothes the temper, and blesses
everyone whom it touches.
Each season powerfully reminds
us of the miracle of creation.
Spring snaps at the heels
of moody, petulant winter,
spraying woodlands with buds
and berries and gentle rain,
quickening the heartbeat of life.
Newborn birds, blind and helpless,
thrust upwards their hungry beaks,
so tiny, so frail, squawking, jostling,
hoping the mother-bird is at hand,
less than a day outside the shell
and already drawn into
the fierce, uneven struggle for life.
Summer mornings arrive to
a fanfare of trumpets and love
songs, honey flows, nature smiles,
and heaven relaxes.
Autumn brings the ripe colours
of haymaking, and shortens
the evenings as the year,
having spent its energy, heads for
the log fire and some
well-deserved peace and quiet.
Ballymacrown 290304
