Under the care of the Discalced Carmelite Friars
This is a reflection on the Christmas experience, lived as it is in the hectic world of everyday activity, particularly with the busyness of the season.
You bid me write, and now I offer
these ciphers in the night ,
crying their futility to distant Christmas stars
that tremble on the outer branches
of a frosty arboreal world.
Why stain this white page with dark words,
why submit its brooding silence
to inarticulate mimicry?
Better far my hand stay still,
the thoughts of my heart remain forever arcane.
Are not our lives but footprints on the sands of time,
Cleanly erased by an inevitable cyclic tide?
Likewise the print of our fingers
just as quickly washes away
in the rising tide of daily affairs,
leaving only a faint watermark behind.
A phrase of uncertain song
lingers for a moment in the memory
or bubbles unconsciously to the lips,
but is later lost in the vast spaces
that house forgotten things.
But yet we know our faltering words
Can now be plucked at random
From the newer realm of cyberspace.
But there is an immense strength
in the silence of the heart;
no argument prevails against it
for it has uttered no challenge.
The singer passes on , so also the song;
smiles fade and laughter ceases -
journeys end at sundown,
but the silence remain.
O silent peak, speak to us your mystery.
You lift your head above the plain,
the better to escape crushing babble of fools.
In just such a moment did the Almighty Word
at midnight fall through silent spaces ,
and cradled itself like the dew drop
coming to rest on the edges
of’ low lying growing grasses.
Tadgh Tierney ocd (Morley)