from T.S. Eliot’s “The Dry Salvages,” a portion of his Four Quartets:
Men’s curiosity searches past and future
And clings to that dimension.
But to apprehend
The point of intersection of the timeless
With time, is an occupation for the saint–
No occupation either, but something given
And taken, in a lifetimes’s
death in love,
Ardour and
selflessness and
self-surrender.
For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all,
but you are the music
While the music lasts.
There are only hints and guesses,
Hints followed by guesses; and the rest
Is prayer,
observance,
discipline,
thought and
action.
The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is
Incarnation.