Relatives

An atom smasher and cathedral ceiling
looked similar when pictured side by side,
and this instilled in me a certain feeling
that they, in spite of differences, are tied,
related in some sense though not the same:
each affirming things that can’t be seen,
with probing or with reverence the aim,
to find how things are made or what they mean.
Some now believe the church is obsolete,
that physics tells us all we need to know.
Its picture, though, can never be complete,
and in a church I seek what it can’t show:
We’re smashing tiny particles at CERN,
but God is something science can’t discern.

Relatives

Mario A. Pita

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Tree Tranquility

A tree won’t scold itself for growing slowly
or reprimand itself for blooming late,
or blame itself when it’s not acting holy,
and, unlike us, it won’t self-flagellate.
Yet we who strive toward a different Light
get on our own or someone else’s case
and claim that we or they aren’t growing right
or growing at a good and proper pace.
But heaven knows it’s not for me to say
exactly how a tree or you should grow,
but I hope each of us will find the way,
the routes that may take long for us to know.
Trees will not torment themselves: may we
reach toward the Light as does a tranquil tree.

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Mario A. Pita

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Artwork

Supposedly, you are an accident,
arising randomly as all things to do,
and everything you feel your life has meant
is false, and only chemicals are true,
and anything we think a short life means
is just a tale to make ourselves feel better,
and life is just for spreading of our genes,
and truth, though it seemed sweet, is only bitter.
But in my depths, I sense this is absurd,
like thinking works of art could paint themselves,
and feel we haven’t randomly occurred:
we’re authored like the books upon our shelves.
I know this through my intellect and heart:
no accident, you are a work of art.

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Sophia Gray performing at the Waltham Steampunk Festival, 2016

Mario A. Pita

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Crossing

It’s easy to believe now in the cross,
since suffering’s inflicted everywhere,
and easy to believe through pain and loss
that crosses are a thing that we must bear.
It’s easy to believe in crucifixions
because they still occur though differently:
it’s obvious that they are not just fictions,
although on crosses that we may not see.
It’s harder to believe, though, I can cross,
as when You asked a man to walk on waves,
upon a lake that You had strolled across:
he sank because he lacked a faith that saves.
I cross myself, between my birth and death,
and pray for faith to cross the rippled depth.

crossing the waves

Mario A. Pita

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Solar Freckle

We saw a planet cross the solar face,
through a lens that filtered blinding light
that took eight minutes reaching us from space,
and marveled at the planetary sight,
because a world appeared to be a mole,
a freckle on the yellow solar skin,
or else a tiny, circular black hole
too small for anything to be sucked in.
But what was most amazing was the thought
that our world too from far would look like that;
upon the solar face a blemish spot,
no bigger than a pinhead or a gnat,
and yet we know our lives still mean a lot
although we all are living on a dot.

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Mario A. Pita

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Vigilance

Despair has been my god instead of You,
and other things have been my god as well,
like fear, and pain, and deep despondence too,
and all these gods have led me to a hell.
Those deities have seemed omnipotent
and proven past a shadow of a doubt,
and I have been for them an instrument
and they have seemed what life is all about.
But henceforth may I have no other God
than You who are the only one that’s true,
the others each an overbearing fraud,
and may I serve You till my life is through.
O, Love, I pray that I will be observant
so that no other god makes me their servant.

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Mario A. Pita

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Holy Inhalation

Imagine breathing in a stellar light
that spreads throughout your body in a breath
and fills you with tranquility’s delight
and widens consciousness to cosmic breadth.
Imagine you are breathing in this star
which then dissolves as finest medicine,
reminding you of who you were and are:
a child of the Love that shines within.
O, Holy Spirit, may I thus inhale
Your light as though it were a mountain air
so that although in life I often fail,
I breathe in Your forgiveness, love, and care.
I thank You for the blessings You bequeath
and pray You fill me every time I breathe.

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Mario A. Pita

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