Simple Things

“Life is a poem”

Life is a poem. The word « poetry » reads inadequate. Yet I use it , as I am longing to express
the “well-being” , the feeling of being just in the right place, here and now, that I daily
experience, after hours of restful sleep, while consciousness emerges.
Life is a poem, as I ponder over “the tranquil order of things”: the bright flames dancing high
among the logs, the crackling of the fire, the males voices of consecrated men chanting the
glory of the Lord, far away in some remote abbey in France, Spain or Russia, and the crowned
Queen of Angels, seated in the folds of her ample cloak, feeding the suckling son of God…
Life is the ever present gift at which I never tire of marveling: the awesome beauty of what
simply IS.
How can a little cup, adorned with painted poppies, cornflowers and daisies, provide such joy
to my soul ?…A mere household item, the cup is the sole piece left from a coffee set , once
made in the years of war, that an infant’s eyes noticed, in his grandparents’ home at coffee
time…
Life is a poem. For it consists in unique instants, as the mind wanders and questions:
somebody once planned the little cup; someone else drew and painted the field flowers in the
colors of the French flag ; someone imagined the plain image, for a domestic use : four
poppies, four cornflowers, four white daisies with their golden hearts, and a few tiny leaves
and buds, sparsely dotted on the saucer. The cup, fringed with a blue line, sits facing me. It is
but a brittle crockery piece, a mere object. How is it, then, that a silent dialogue binds us both
every morning at the breakfast table ?…What could we call that brimming joy that comes day
after day, from simple things ?…Could it be the Angel, talking to my soul ?

Fr.Dominique+