This past weekend Psalm 8 was in my daily reading. It reminded me of a poem I wrote a few years ago using a translation I now cannot find anywhere, "O God, my God, how wonderful your name in all the earth."
How important is it that we name the Divine? Religions differ with respect to this question. In the Jewish tradition, one does not usually write"God" out of respect for what words cannot capture. Islam has 99 names for the divine, just short of 100. I heard this is to remind us that no one can ever completely know or understand Source. Christianity has litanies of different names for Mary, but I do not remember any for God.
My poetic take on the name of the Divine suggests names that are images, interactions, and sounds rather than words. Here is my poem. I cannot figure out how to keep the original formatting so have put forward slashes (/) were the line breaks should be. Feel free to use it if you like, but please do attribute it to me.
How important is it that we name the Divine? Religions differ with respect to this question. In the Jewish tradition, one does not usually write"God" out of respect for what words cannot capture. Islam has 99 names for the divine, just short of 100. I heard this is to remind us that no one can ever completely know or understand Source. Christianity has litanies of different names for Mary, but I do not remember any for God.
My poetic take on the name of the Divine suggests names that are images, interactions, and sounds rather than words. Here is my poem. I cannot figure out how to keep the original formatting so have put forward slashes (/) were the line breaks should be. Feel free to use it if you like, but please do attribute it to me.
Resounding By Tess Baumberger
“Oh God, my God, how wonderful your name in all the earth.” Psalm 8:1
It is the rhythmic chant of the ocean,
The whisper-bending of trees,
The lonely longing of the wind
As it scales the white-tipped mountains.
It is the rocky quiet of the canyon,
The lustrous waking of a star
The blind touching of the ferns
As they murmur on the forest floor.
It is the mechanical natter of beetle flight
The high decibel opera of whales,
The insistent crying of chicks,
As they stretch their tiny yellow beaks.
It is the suckle of babes at the breast,
The voices of children at play
The sighs of the wounded and weary
As violence comes to and end.
It is the magnificent silence of moonfall,
The rainbow’s slow intake of breath,
The trumpet of the vagrant loon
As it lands on the great pond once more.
****
On a final note, it is winter here and I am longing for the time when the loon lands on the great ponds once more.... Come home to me, Vagrant Spirit.
“Oh God, my God, how wonderful your name in all the earth.” Psalm 8:1
It is the rhythmic chant of the ocean,
The whisper-bending of trees,
The lonely longing of the wind
As it scales the white-tipped mountains.
It is the rocky quiet of the canyon,
The lustrous waking of a star
The blind touching of the ferns
As they murmur on the forest floor.
It is the mechanical natter of beetle flight
The high decibel opera of whales,
The insistent crying of chicks,
As they stretch their tiny yellow beaks.
It is the suckle of babes at the breast,
The voices of children at play
The sighs of the wounded and weary
As violence comes to and end.
It is the magnificent silence of moonfall,
The rainbow’s slow intake of breath,
The trumpet of the vagrant loon
As it lands on the great pond once more.
****
On a final note, it is winter here and I am longing for the time when the loon lands on the great ponds once more.... Come home to me, Vagrant Spirit.
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