Suppose we could sing this life
as though it were a splendid cantata:
its movements divine, all of a piece,
a perfect balance of discord and bliss.
All this power is within us now;
this song is in our hearts; these human eyes,
clouded and aging, yet marvelous still
can be cast upon this worldly plain by day
and still see, even in glimpses, the manifestations
of our Holy Work, our holy lives, placed before us.
We can look upon this worldly life and see
not toils and burdens, but the divine kiss
of God and humankind.
The soul bids us arise and take our places
in the holy processional into the sacred nave of the Earth’s cathedral.
Incense of hallowed air inspires us;
holy water of rivers and streams sings for us;
the fire of the sun lights our altar.
Our feet planted firmly upon this Mother Earth,
we move in different steps, not always synchronized;
our vestments variously arrayed (some would say disheveled);
until someone at the front begins to sway, and others,
inching forward, start to move rhythmically as well.
Then all those of a sudden, those sullen and reticent souls
in the solemn line of duty will explode at last (some might say madly)
in an awesome dance of life and light and hope
as wide as Mother Earth herself.
And as the world dances together at last,
and joins its voices in songs of peace and freedom,
we will know that we have finally remade this world
in the light of our religious imaginations,
and as echos of the sacred song of all Creation.