Sunday, January 25, 2009


I am listening to the recording of my grandfather's voice when he was 60 - younger than my own parents are now - tell stories of his childhood and describe where he grew up in rural Saskatchewan. And while listening I was searching for this poem he sent me after the birth of a great grandchild, I don't remember who... maybe he sent it to me after Rhiannon's birth. I kept this poem on my night table for a long time and read it often. When I was little, I was told he was an atheist. But he was not. I wonder how it was for him when he crossed the veil? I love this poem for how it touches so very lightly on the sacred.


I always watch with awe and reverence
as newborn babies concentrate their attention
on being
and listening to the silence.

Our affectionate Angora cat purred quietly
as she was dying.

Do newborn babies and some cats
intuit something we all forget?

Does a holy essence of being
underly everything always
and whisper of eternity
even when we can't hear it
for our noise?

Gordon B McLean
Jan 2000


beetlemack said...

that's a really beautiful poem. i love it. said...

me too.

Laura said...

ya i do too.