A Poem: Everything Created

Everything is holy.
The bird on the branch,
the way you hold your face,
watching.

Everything created
bearing the watermark,
the imprint of a creator.

Indeed,
when I have finished typing this poem,
sending the words flying
from mind to fingertips,

there will be no need to mark it,
guarantee its authorship,
with its copyright intrinsic
in the work of its creation.

Like the ceramic bowl
you are eyeing upon the shelf,
bearing the invisible, indelible
handprint of the artist,

in the way it was shaped
and held,
envisaged into being,
set in place.

Everything is as holy then
as the next thing.

And we too,
as holy as the priest performing mass,
holding the chalice to our lips,
breaking bread.

When we work and when we pray,
serve children, share meals,
we are stamped,
granted a divine approval,

even
when lying upon our sick beds,
fainting and grieving—
even then we are holy,

and no less complete,
almost further set apart,
precious,
and no less beautiful.

Yes, everything is as beautiful
as the next thing.

And we, radiating the qualities of heaven,
carrying ourselves as vessels
of light’s purity,
know how everything holy is copyrighted.

The way you hold your face,
and the way the piwakawaka dances
upon the leaf,

both the signatures of one being.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
July 2023

How can we speak of glass without speaking of reflection?
How can we talk about reflection without talking about light?
How can we mention light, without mentioning God?
~Tal Waldman, quoted in ‘Glass and Light’, ‘The Culturium’

Photo by Lolita Alekseeva on Unsplash