Here This Our Plea

A dog is walking on the rocks.

If that dog weren’t there

coming between me and the rocks

I wouldn’t understand this world

I wouldn’t.

Fish are swimming in the water

the water flows around the fish

birds are flying in the air

the air moves around them

if there were no fish

if there were no birds

between the water and me

I couldn’t live here

I couldn’t.

If there were no creatures

in the midst of this desert

I wouldn’t stay here

I wouldn’t.

–Ernesto Calzavara, Analfabeto

Our job is to understand, and we have failed, miserably.

The everything we cannot understand we are asked to accept. At this also we have failed, miserably.

Most of us, though, have gotten pretty good at going on, and for this most modest of accomplishments we are rewarded with…what?

Wings, I suppose. The occasional flight outside and above ourselves, allowing us a glimpse –even if only for a moment– of where we are and what we have been given, which is the one thing we can ever truly call our own: our lives in this world, exactly as it is, which is heartbreaking, but which is nonetheless beautiful.

You, then: Big Thing. Great Eraser. Compulsive Builder. Demolition Expert. Flesh Shredder. Conjurer. Custodian of these bursting hearts and Choreographer of confrontations with mirrors. Master of disappearance and deterioration. You with your largess with lilacs and your wondrous palette of greens. Soul Pincher. Star Sower. Shatterer. Lamp Lighter. Candle Snuffer. Trickster. Sour Puss. Slumberer. Mad Man. Soft-Hearted Old Fool. Misery Maker. Terrifying Immensity. Merciful One.

You: Forgive us.

Forgive us.

Forgive us, astonishing, bumbling, miraculous failures that we are.

Forgive us all the great and usual sins.