September 2015

Hymn of the Universe by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin Hymn of the Universe by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin "Hymn of the Universe" (excerpt) by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Chapter 1: The Mass On The World

Since once again, Lord — though this time not in the forests of the Aisne but in the steppes of Asia — I have neither bread, nor wine, nor altar, I will raise myself beyond these symbols, up to the pure majesty of the real itself; I, your priest, will make the whole earth my altar and on it will offer you all the labours and sufferings of the world.

Over there, on the horizon, the sun has just touched with light the outermost fringe of the eastern sky. Once again, beneath this moving sheet of fire, the living surface of the earth wakes and trembles, and once again begins its fearful travail. I will place on my paten, O God, the harvest to be won by this renewal of labour. Into my chalice I shall pour all the sap which is to be pressed out this day from the earth’s fruits.

My paten and my chalice are the depths of a soul laid widely open to all the forces which in a moment will rise up from every corner of the earth and converge upon the Spirit. Grant me the remembrance and the mystic presence of all those whom the light is now awakening to the new day.

One by one, Lord, I see and I love all those whom you have given me to sustain and charm my life. One by one also I number all those who make up that other beloved family which has gradually surrounded me, its unity fashioned out of the most disparate elements, with affinities of the heart, of scientific research and of thought. And again one by one — more vaguely it is true, yet all-inclusively — I call before me the whole vast anonymous army of living humanity; those who surround me and support me though I do not know them; those who come, and those who go; above all, those who in office, laboratory and factory, through their vision of truth or despite their error, truly believe in the progress of earthly reality and who today will take up again their impassioned pursuit of the light.

This restless multitude, confused or orderly, the immensity of which terrifies us; this ocean of humanity whose slow, monotonous wave-flows trouble the hearts even of those whose faith is most firm: it is to this deep that I thus desire all the fibres of my being should respond. All the things in the world to which this day will bring increase; all those that will diminish; all those too that will die: all of them, Lord, I try to gather into my arms, so as to hold them out to you in offering. This is the material of my sacrifice; the only material you desire.

Once upon a time men took into your temple the first fruits of their harvests, the flower of their flocks. But the offering you really want, the offering you mysteriously need every day to appease your hunger, to slake your thirst is nothing less than the growth of the world borne ever onwards in the stream of universal becoming.

Receive, O Lord, this all-embracing host which your whole creation, moved by your magnetism, offers you at this dawn of a new day.

This bread, our toil, is of itself, I know, but an immense fragmentation; this wine, our pain, is no more, I know, than a draught that dissolves. Yet in the very depths of this formless mass you have implanted — and this I am sure of, for I sense it — a desire, irresistible, hallowing, which makes us cry out, believer and unbeliever alike:

‘Lord, make us one.’

Because, my God, though I lack the soul-zeal and the sublime integrity of your saints, I yet have received from you an overwhelming sympathy for all that stirs within the dark mass of matter; because I know myself to be irremediably less a child of heaven than a son of earth; therefore I will this morning climb up in spirit to the high places, bearing with me the hopes and the miseries of my mother; and there — empowered by that priesthood which you alone (as I firmly believe) have bestowed on me — upon all that in the world of human flesh is now about to be born or to die beneath the rising sun I will call down the Fire.

—Pierre Teilhard de Chardin


'In My Soul' by Rabia — 8th C, poetess of Islam


In my soul there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church.

Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.

Is there not a region of love where the sovereignty is illumined nothing,
where ecstasy gets poured into itself and becomes lost,
where the wing is fully alive but has no mind or body?

In my soul there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
that dissolve,
that dissolve in God.


“Wings of Love and Longing” - Author Unknown

—-Painting by Rassouli

“Wings of Love and Longing”
Author Unknown

When longing lures us from sleep
to follow the flutter of wings
playing around the heart,
a soft breath carries remembrance
of the long grateful sigh
of breaking free
from whatever binds
and confines
the wings of our souls.

We know on some
deep level,
that we are meant
for soaring.
Perhaps the birds are envoys
to kindle the flame
of remembering.

Captivity can leave
deep grooves
where the chains
we fashion
slowly wear away
our capacity for beauty.

We stop straining
toward the light
and begin to develop
a hunger
for bread alone.

The vision of flight
and the soft shores of silence
disappear into
some amusement ride,
a simulated reality
of forgotten
of the journey from
heart to heart to heart.

What calls us to chip away stone
to find a vision of light
hiding inside?
What summons us to the sea
to sail to the place
where the sky kneels
to touch
a distant shore?

What inspires us
to begin to create music
in tune with
the rhythmic beating
of the heart?

What lures a song
to form from a deep place
within our soul?

Who is the knight without
armor or sword
who comes
riding into the night
to remind us,
the secrets are not
in the moon,
but within our hearts?

It is Love that forever invites
and excites us,
daring us to dream,
to risk, to feel, to imagine,
to turn toward beauty,
toward the light of becoming
and the exalted flight
of freedom
beyond wings.

(Poem found on Website below):