Between Stone And Stars Poem by Daniel Brick
Between Stone And Stars
Walking down Summit Avenue, I saw
the smooth stones and Romanesque arch
of St. Luke's Church, long ago my family's parish.
Inside a solitary parishioner knelt
in the last pew, clutching his rosary,
reciting 'Hail Marys' in a monotone.
My appearance hushed his prayer.
Then and there total silence
always poised within pale brown stones
spread evenly through the spacious hall.
I walked along aisles of a former grace,
retraced the steps of grade school pageants,
and recalled the child's ready faith.
This is the sacred place
where I first ate divinity
disguised as human food,
first heard God's truth
wrapped in human words.
Once angels' flight stopped here,
and saints lived inside the stone.
I gazed above at giant disciples
drawn in bold black lines,
splashed with vibrant colors.
Their quiet lives of daily love
had taught my inexperienced soul
not every hurt needs a martyr's wound.
Sometimes suffering instructs survival,
merely settles in a person's heart.
I walked on with remembered reverence,
stood before a star-crowned marble altar.
From the dome an immense purple-robed Jesus
sits on a throne of gold and clouds.
Blood flows from his side to nourish
sheep who drink from its red river.
His right hand rises majestically
to spin stars out of their orbits.
I left the church that afternoon
with this simple life-long hope:
someday I want to worship
like a penitent beneath the radiant dome.
Between stone and stars I will be
just a zealous man who loves silence
praying in an empty catholic church.
And this old man will know
from years of quiet prayer
how it hurts is how it heals.
the face of a cliff. The airy height of its location, the vista of
red rock hills around it, the spacious interior open to the elements -
all of these factors make it a perfect place for whatever spiritual practice is meaningful to an individual. The Rothko Chapel in Houston
is just the opposite: an enclosed, windowless, circular room, with Mark Rothko's stunning all-black paintings ringing the walls. This too is a place of silence and meditation. I visited both chapels long
after writing my poem, but I'm happy it relates to these real sites. That is something we learn by writing Memory Poems: the events we relate may be in the past, and we feel cut off from that time. But something else may have replaced what has been lost, and this is accessible to us. It is probably not a literal replacement, but it will fulfill the same need and desire and may mysteriously convey the 'flavor' or the 'touch' of what we remember. And so a Memory Poem about the past may create for us a very real present.
That is briliant. A precise description of what you have been seeing. Your skillfulness in describing what you see is revealed when you started describing the image of Jesus Christ. Thank you for sharing.
Beautiful poem. A journey in spirituality through one's faith and religion. When questions arise and search for answers begins miraculously it takes us to quiet prayers. Love the last lines. And love the title also. Thanks for mentioning it in your bio and thanks for sharing.
Much enjoyed your poem, Daniel! It's so beautifully written. Rich and powerful imagery.
Very much heavenly..........inspiring and touching............Daniel.......I love this poem very much..............Please read my poems at your leisure.........
Between stone and stars I will be just a zealous man who loves silence praying in an empty catholic church. And this old man will know from years of quiet prayer how it hurts is how it heals. - - - - - -A marvelous poem of spiritual journey.
...And I wandered through the lines Through the pristine chapel of the cowboy-hat-wearing poet divine And all through my eyes seeing through his for all time I will never the same be inside Since my walk through the chapel of a poet divine. So, thank you, thank you Daniel.
Yes.....'How it hurts and how it heals' Beautiful Daniel
how it hurts is how it heals. - exactly! and I llike - that you SEE what is behind the things, stones, deeds! that is so important for calmness and prayer! This is the sacred place where I first ate divinity disguised as human food, first heard God's truth wrapped in human words. Once angels' flight stopped here, and saints lived inside the stone. clairvoyant!
And this old man will know from years of quiet prayer how it hurts is how it heals BETWEEN STONE AND STARS... un titolo assolutamente azzeccato! ***absolutely nailed it! *** :) Io sono agnostico, ma amo l'atmosfera mistica (intimistica e assoluta) che si respira nelle antiche chiese romaniche, nei monasteri medioevali, nelle pievi di campagna dell'alto Medio Evo - c. VIII-XI secolo - (il termine PIEVE deriva dalla parola latina PLEBS [: gente -la plebe/ la gente semplice, di campagna-]; la Toscana ne è piena) .. Mi piace passare del tempo lì, immerso nel loro profondo silenzio.. ad ascoltare quel suono silenzioso che è la voce della pietra.. e, insieme, le voci nascoste delle moltitudini di persone che hanno attraversato i secoli.. quel profondo silenzio che rappresenta la voce nascosta dell'universo che è dentro ciascuno di noi.. I'm agnostic, but I love the mystical atmosphere (intimistic and absolute) that reigns in the ancient Romanesque churches, in well preserved medieval monasteries, in those beautiful country churches (PIEVI) of the High Middle Ages - meaning VIII-XI centuries - (*PIEVE* comes from the latin word PLEBS [=people]; Italy, and Tuscany in particular, is full of them) I love spending some time there, nestled in their deep silence.. listening to that hushed sound that is the stone's voice.. and -in the same time- the hidden voices of the multitudes of people who have crossed the centuries.. that deep silence that stands for the voice of the Universe that is hidden inside each of us.. Fabrizio
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 8:54:10 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I join you in this pilgrimage starting with a child's ready faith, who was all eye and ear, throbbing with curiosity to see what mystical drama was unfolded in the sanctum sanctorium and who 'ate divinity in his local parish church as human food' and his transformation into a sceptical, questioning spirit and later his rejection of dogmatic religion and finally his growth into a zealous man who prays in silence to a power beyond him and who is mature enough to understand that through hurts, one gets healed! I thoroghly enjoyed this journey through the ancient cathedrals with their lattice work and wall paintings! Also the ramble down the damp aisles of memory! Superb! !