Fr. Seán ÓLaoire

God, you are the cosmic dancer.

We honor you.

You who choreographed the solar flares, the orbits of the planets, and the wild careening of comets and meteors.

You who can name every ancient rock in the asteroid belt.

You who can tangle with typhoons and twisters and tornadoes.

We honor you.

God, the ultimate artist, we honor you.

You who paint sunrises and sunsets, the plumage of birds and the camouflage of insects.

You who with your finest brushes watercolor the wings of butterflies and the costumes of flowers, we honor you.

God the sculptor, we honor you.

You who chisel out rocks and mountain ranges and cup your hands to form sand dunes, we honor you.

God the writer, we honor you.

You who leave traces of your penmanship everywhere, holographically concealing your entire magnum opus in every line of the text.

You whose mystical meaning is often misunderstood by the scriptures of the world, scriptures in which unity consciousness is fragmented into sectarian separation.

You who secreted in the winking of a distant star, the Rosetta stone, which would allow us to translate every experience into a Christ consciousness moment of Eureka, we honor you.

God, the musician, we honor you.

You who make flutes of the willows by the lakeside and of the reeds on the riverbank.

You whose bass baritone reverberates in the thunder and whose soprano trills in the morning music of the blackbird.

You who drum ecstatically with your raindrops on the sun-parched plains.

And you who hold all of these sounds in the silence of a star-studded night sky.