Spiritual Script posted April 2, 2017

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Prose Potlatch Challenge-Spiritual Place/Descriptive Languag

Apology to the Earth

by michaelcahill

A haggard man shuffles along a path. He's covered in dust and drying sludge of unknown origin and composition. The path slowly becomes more green as he ambles forward. He soon comes upon an idyllic scene--a waterfall, a variety of plant life and even a smattering of animals. It appears almost as though all await him, and what he must say. He addresses those present:
I am Zachary, though that is of no consequence. I have dreamed in days of yore that I would once spread the good news of love and redemption in a cathedral such as this. In truth, this is beyond what I could dream even though learned and armed with knowledge of places such as this. Indeed, I have been a tireless advocate for preserving and cherishing such places once plentiful and even common to Earth.
I see the water tumble much as faith flows from the heart. There is no need to know the destination, only the belief that the journey is the correct one and the destination is what it should be. There is joy in the reckless abandon of the plunge over the cliff and the roar is of laughter, fearless and thrilled for the sudden rush of the ride. And then the stillness of the lake as all is collected in reflection. Each drop, with its own point of origin and story, now part of a great clarity that reflects all around it. The sun if it is day, the moon if it is night, even the stars though the distance to reach them escapes the abilities of our minds. You bring them to us as if to say, "See, they are close at hand. It is all connected and you are part of it. Nothing is far away. It is all part of you for you are part of it."
These eyes peering out at me. Do you question me? Did we not understand dominion? Was it we who considered slaughter and disdain and disrespect components of our gift? We were not good shepherds. No, not good shepherds by any reckoning. Nor were we good gardeners, having been bestowed a garden like this that covered the Earth. These colours that taxed our brains for the naming. But we chose grey.
Now, in this slice of paradise where I once dreamed of a joyous sermon, I can only offer a pathetic apology. I apologize for what my fellows have done to the Earth. I can pledge, as the last of them, what has been done will be done no more. I can only pray that this one small oasis might remain. I can only beg whatever power might entertain my begging, that this one speck be spared.
I would offer myself as recompense, but our value has been established and etched in the annals of eternity for all to see. A sad tale.

The End




Prose Potlatch Challenge--Using Descriptive Language

Describe a church or religious place or anyplace that makes you feel spiritual--ie waterfall etc. Try to paint the picture for the reader

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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