We believe.
We believe in the sun rising
and falling,
in the birds and the trees,
the ocean’s hum registering far within.
The way a seashell put to the ear
draws from us a dozen memories,
of childhood, of floating on the currents,
of waves against a beach.
So personal, individual,
we travel on a raft of longings
and remembrances.
Therefore we believe.
We honour the faiths
of our forebears,
the rituals of our parents,
their graces and their prayers,
and we remember
our grandparent’s gestures,
their hopes placed in us,
hands upon our foreheads.
That we believe, and hardly know
how our totality is made of hums,
and snatches of song and prayer,
of snapshots in the memory,
the graces of our surrounds.
Therefore we believe
and might not be able to give
credit to the source,
or define with clear descriptors
enough to satisfy the judges, the evangelists
who would have us learn
a different story off their tongues,
and declare it
as our own soul’s speech.
Yes, we each believe.
We believe in the sun rising
and falling, in the birds and trees,
all the common denominators that make us human,
in need of meaning.
And what means life to one,
may not register with another.
But who are we to question,
or refute
the way the Spirit moves
in the eternal dance –
the song we each uniquely hear,
the private steps we follow.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
February 2020
Living Tree Poetry 