Unknown to each other, unheard of in distance of time, with what might as well be a universe than an ocean between their two lands, men with spiritual eyes and spiritual ears walked the selfsame way of pilgrimage.
From the Navajos (as retold by Joseph Campbell):
Oh beauty before me, beauty behind me,
beauty to the left of me, beauty to the right of me,
beauty above me, beauty below me,
I’m on the pollen path.
From a prayer, known as the breastplate of Saint Patrick:
I arise today, through
The strength of heaven,
The light of the sun,
The radiance of the moon,
The splendor of fire,
The speed of lightning,
The swiftness of wind,
The depth of the sea,
The stability of the earth,
The firmness of rock.…
Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today…
Through confession of the Oneness
of the Creator of creation.
I’m on the pollen path.
All beauty, all truth, leads to the One, the Godhead, the Divine Logos through Whom all things are made. Through nature, through poetry and art, Divinity speaks life to the human heart.
“Question the beauty of the earth, question the beauty of the sea, question the beauty of the air distending and diffusing itself, question the beauty of the sky. . . question all these realities. All respond: “See, we are beautiful.” Their beauty is a profession. These beauties are subject to change. Who made them if not the Beautiful One who is not subject to change?” (St. Augustine.)
Greeted by the Navajo and the ancient people of Ireland, the Holy Other flickers through firelight, shimmers in dew, whispers through the heart of blossoming. The Beautiful One came down and assumed human nature to weep tears of blood for flowers eternal, to tenderly touch the face of the humble pilgrim with knees pressed into the earth, so that, with spirit ear pressed to the heart of Creation, the Source may be intimately known. Friend. Brother. Savior.
A man called Patrick shared this love with those who had enslaved him and, by his witness to the fullness of Beauty Revealed, set his captors free.
We’re on the pollen path.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day.
I don't call myself a poet — but the beating of my heart is poetry. I don't call myself a theologian — but the light of my mind seeks the Divine. Who I am is a Child of God, a Divine Creation, a person devoted to being fully human, fully alive.