Dark and cold we may be, but this
Is no winter now: the frozen misery
Of centuries breaks, cracks, begins to move:
The thunder is the thundering of the floes,
The thaw, the flood, the upstart spring.
Thank God our time is now when wrong
Comes up to face us everywhere,
Never to leave us til we take
The longest stride of soul we ever took.
Affairs are now soul-size.
The enterprise
Is exploration into God.
The work of art that emerges where we leave the place of interiority and reenter the visible world may be something tangible or it may take the form of a special kind of life, a life that is in itself an art. The sharing or the communication, in whatever form that may take, is the essence of the creative act. But the seed begins to germinate in aloneness and in silence.