Commentary and Philosophy Poetry posted June 20, 2015


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forgive me precious

The Pearl

by mfowler

              The Pearl       by mfowler

Imagine holding pearls of value in
your hands. And one is wholly perfect.
A gem, so lustrous,  spherical - like pure
white satin, grown within creation's rub.
 
Imagine casting such a treasure before swine
and watching it be trampled to fine dust,
then blown away on breath of callous winds.
Would we not cry out: Forgive me, my precious?
 
Imagine something infinitely greater
in worth, a pearl some twenty-five thousand
miles round its face; designer's miracle.
And on its surface, life abundant ticking
 
over; perpetual synchronicity.
Imagine shaking, tipping this creation
up, down, til giant baby tantrums cause
the life to splinter, shift, and float away,
 
the lustrous sheen reduced to spectral hue.
Imagine how distressing that would be.
Would it not bring us to outrage, protest
against the stupidity, cupidity
 
of all involved? Or would it bring you to
your knees to beg forgiveness for apathy,
neglect of beauty, life abundant? Would
we ask for second chances, and find out
 
we had already taken them?


Recognized


from Laudato si: encyclical of Pope Francis (24/5/15)

St Francis' response to the world around him was so much more than intellectual appreciation or economic calculus, for to him each and every creature was a sister united to him by bonds of affection. That is why he felt called to care for all that exists... Such a conviction cannot be written off as naive romanticism, for it affects the choices which determine our behaviour. If we approach nature and the environment without this openness to awe and wonder, if we no longer speak the language of fraternity and beauty in our relationship with the world, our attitude will be that of masters, consumers, ruthless exploiters, unable to set limits on their immediate needs. By contrast, if we feel intimately united with all that exists, then sobriety and care will well up spontaneously. The poverty and austerity of Saint Francis were no mere veneer of asceticism, but something much more radical: a refusal to turn reality into an object simply to be used and controlled.
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