God loves poetry. Otherwise, it wouldn’t affect us as it does.
If we want to know about the resurrection, we read the New Testament. If we dare to engage it, we read John O’Donahue:
Oh the rush with which the forgotten mind awakens . . .
(“The Resurrection,” Conamara Blues)
The more poetry we read (or write), the more the forgotten mind awakens, the more the cold, quiet nighttime of the grave falls away as the moon stirs a wave of brightening in the stone of our dormant passions and deadened senses.
We read to survive. We read poems to live.
God knows how desperately we need to get off the sidewalk and wade, terrified, in the waist-deep river.
Thank you for being here. I am honored by your presence.
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