When Creation Sings

​"I stand and feel the heartbeat of creation surging in unison with mine, and your heartbeat is there, and this is dazzling."
Anna's "Northern Magnificat"
​in The Ice Widow
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We do not invite a theophany.

If we look for it, it will evade us.

We develop systems with key phrases and gestures to summon the deity, to capture the divine presence, to bind it to us.

We systemize holiness. Layer upon layer, with ritual and invocation, we drag God into our presence.

We systemize our responsibility to creation. We cannot feed you,  because we are busy volunteering. We have a heat-pump that reduces power usage; we crank it up. We buy an electric car because we are virtuous and electricity is clean. We will deal with the clutter, the lithium mines, the bits and pieces of toxic waste, the recycling and all the other fun..... tomorrow.

The earth is as weary of our projects as surely God must be.

Send us rain, so victims of fire can get back to normal.  Not too much, though, because flood victims will then be taking news time. Bring balance, so we can have fireworks. And don't forget to pray for the nice people in the front lines.

Do not clear-cut unless you are flattening the earth for condominiums with environmental upgrades. Save your plastics; they will be currency one day. We will wrestle creation and creator into submission. 

The Spirit moves over the waters, and remembers a dawn sweet with promise. 

The Spirit is lonely. 

I awaken to a grey dawn. The skies are flat, empty of rain. My heart is dull; I touch the morning and feel dust.

There should be roundness; rich earth should cake in my fist.

I inhale the morning, and it is the mustiness of the tomb.

There should be earth rot and blossom packing the air, and a breeze fanning the earth, the Creator's palm caressing.

Life is dead on the apocalyptic fringes of our world, and all the electric cars and heat pumps will not save us or feed the starving or cleanse their sores.

One shaft of light pierces the grey and touches a finger to a decaying trunk, caressing its length.

One shaft of light and that breeze stirring becomes the breath of God beside my ear, washing through me, spinning in ecstasy over creation. Light dapples and dances to the choir of the universe and I am alive. That vibration in the air -- that is the voice of creation singing.

God reveals presence as they choose. 

​The day begins with hope.

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