The Flaring Forth

Scientists say the universe "flared forth"
From a single particle,
That popped out of the nothingness
And exploded into the everything,
Like a good idea whose time had come.

And each of us comes forth
From a single cell,
Made from stuff left over from
That first particle from nowhere.

We, too, flare from there,
That primordial blast,
To see and celebrate our own creation story;
Each of us a good idea whose time has come.

©1997 Chuck McVinney


Expanding Universe

The work of the universe is never done,
Consider the evidence:
First a dot from nowhere becomes everything,
Then keeps changing, changing, and changing,
Each change more dramatic than the last,
Until complexity simply reigns.

Transformation is the pastime of Creation,
Creation is creation's business,
From lava to rock to life to thought;
"What next?" the emerging spirit asks:
"Stay tuned" the universe responds,
"The best is yet to come."



And Now The Dawn

First light we hear, was said not made, a work of art from a word;
Words are work, too, when they create a city, or a whole universe.

Why not believe in that primordial moment when thought became;
No other reason, not one other sound, can ever call its name.



Light of the Mist

Out of the mist came the morning
As if it was hiding there all along,
Mist - keeping the sun safe from the night,
Single handedly protecting the secret of the light.

Showers of photons everywhere, so many,
Bouncing and streaking like some crazy barrage of bullets
Multiplying, or so it seems, as they cascade one over the other
Through the foggy banks that billow tall in the early, wet sky.

To catch such a photon, with lens and eye, is like
Touching a moment in the history of time.
The soul, too, stirs at the touching, its memory kindled
That it too is light.

Trapped, though lovingly, in matterís cage,
The soul responds with its eternal gaze;
After all, gravity, too, is matterís memory it once was light.
The lifting soul rejoices in the promise of the mist;
That it, too, will escape from the darkness brought on by night.


A Question of Prosperity

What tells the value of these raindrops in the trees?
Or of the light thatís dancing in the leaves?
Are they measured in their abundance?
Or by their scarcities?

Is this just God playing with his toys?
Or, was all of it meant from the very beginning
Just for you, and just for me?