FEBRUARY 6
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
—ALFRED TENNYSONThese words of Tennyson speak powerfully of the sustaining
rhythms of creation. We are familiar with the tides of the
ocean, the pull of the moon, the rhythmic rotation of stars
and planets. And we, who set some of our most holy fest-
ivals—Ramadan, Easter, Passover—by the phases of the
moon and the orbiting of the earth around the sun, are also
part of the rhythmic flow of life.
Can we not hope, and trust, that the rhythms which sweep
through the natural world with such resonance continue to
sustain our loved one who has passed, for a time, out of the
reach of our senses and our rational knowledge?
And can we not imagine the “home” of which Tennyson
speaks as being imbued with more nurture and safety and
possibilities for growth than anything even the most fortu-
nate of us have experienced?
In the rhythms that flow through us all, I find hope and promise.