Blessed are the men and women
who are planted on Your earth in Your garden,
Who grow as Your trees and flowers grow,
who transform their darkness to light.
Their roots plunge into darkness;
their faces turn toward the light.
All those who love You are beautiful;
they overflow with Your presence
so that they can do nothing but good.
There is infinite space in Your garden;
all men, all women are welcome here;
all they need do is enter.
Silence ... And in the west, the ever-setting sun consumed itself, surrounded by its circling sisters, rushing with the speed of light toward the point systems and cosmic galaxies had been fleeing from the beginning, toward darkness and the primordial Fiat. And across the cold ocean of space, audible as the music of the spheres, the defining cry of creation comes. Maranatha!