Last week I participated in a small retreat in North Carolina. The spiritual directors (for lack of a better term) asked two questions. First, they asked "what is the state of your soul?" Next, they asked, "what do you want?" Today's psalm deals with the second question.
Psalm #16 (Elegy)
When the lesser lights escape my eyes and the wild berth of my first person present enters the great conflagration, its carbon reduced and confined to columbarium, Ozark stone, or the cypress-kneed banks of my grandfather's Black Bayou,
When I rise to the new third-person (the indefinite glorious pronoun), wake to the far-shored tomorrow, may the minds of men turn tender and remember that their seeing, their receiving was born of my best attempts to cast honest visions, to give give truer gifts.
This was meager, and how I knew: only dim, only poor.
Even as I learn to see through new eyes without the film of today's dawn, may my sons tell of my best efforts. May I be found like Einaudi's crescendos, like Peter the Saint's confessions, like the Psalmist's cup: beautiful, true, and overflowing from this one finite chalice.