CREATION  AND  THE  FIG  TREE

Humanity alone is called to assist God.  Humankind is called to co-create.
Hildegard of Bingen

 

From the beginning until now, the entire creation has been groaning in one great act of giving birth.
Romans 8:22

 

A continual grumble of groans. And so few

from the act of giving birth. And yet

we struggle to make something new:

 

a melody or image, a cluster of words

or gestures—objects of contemplation,

castles made of mud, sticks and leaves.

 

Weathering the ages by simply growing

down for moisture, up for light,

the fig tree presents its dark fruit.

 

The body is in the soul—the soul

suffuses the body—a materio-spiritual

evanescent emanation of beyond,

 

mired in this place of hard surfaces,

hard luck, but able to finger-draw

the dew-laden window pane.

 

The fig tree’s branches arch,

organizing space, like a fountain

of fireworks, like an Alexander

 

Calder mobile, like a white-

walled gallery, holding its breath

among the opaque spirits.

 

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