Writers Harbor

The divine spark

My dear old Mum was a traditional Irish Catholic.
Very soft-spoken lady, writer for Catholic magazines (she wrote as Angela Meyrick), and had a magnificent library. Not for show either. All her books were dog-eared, with extensive pencil notes written in the margins.
She expressly left the library to me, but… my estranged father gave it all away during my world-wandering absence. Life.
One of the many quiet admonitions she would direct at me (I was the deserving recipient of many) was that I should always nourish the ‘Divine Spark’. By which she meant that there was something placed in all of us, rich or poor, at birth.
A ‘Divine Spark’, that was ours to cherish, nurture, care for… or neglect. We little humans could either whip it into a roaring fire, visible for miles around, or…? Simply let the poor wee critter fizzle out, in a last, despairing, gasping puff of black, sooty, smoke.
She also, one day, quietly pointed out, that there was in me, at times, an astonishing, cold hardness. I remember that day, and the quiet, concerned, note in her voice.
I wonder what she would have thought, of some of my later pursuits.

Life roars on, and the express train, crashing along the tracks, stops for no one. We passengers, at times comfortable, at times shaken about, even forced to pick our teeth fillings up off the floor, often match our thoughts to the strange rhythm of life.

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack
here we race, along the track
tickets please!, and how long before
we ride this rattling train no more.

Clickety-clack, clickety-clack
here we race, along the track
In the fog, way up ahead
I wonder oft, no fear or dread

what station door awaits my rap
this pilgrim’s gentle, seeking, tap?

The ride… is magnificent.
The journey, mind blowing.
The Creation, breath taking.

But I am a simple pilgrim. Not very bright. Prone to opinions, rants and ravings.
I remind myself. All I really need is a warm cloak, a sturdy staff, and that amazing sense… that I have seen and know, nothing.
Then, perhaps, at last? The wind in my hair? That Divine spark?

Even I? Might learn…