As a humble servant I come to you.
Speaking of a film.
About the dear St. Francis of Asisi. San Francesco. François.
I remember you because of the dear composer Olivier Messiaen.
And his only opera.
As a humble servant I thank God for life.
Two people playing catch with a football.
Traffic jams.
Moments of reflection.
I thank you God for Hélène Grimaud’s new album.
It is raining and soaking us to the bone.
As I walk with Harry Partch.
Bitter music.
I am but a poor sinner.
This film which is impenetrable.
Drab drab.
We thank God for the birds which laugh.
And I thank God for Pope Francis.
Yes, it is only fitting.
That he has seen the striving of all world religions.
That he has seen their imperfections.
That he has voiced the message of peace.
That we are all praying to the same God.
Whether Trinity or plethora.
Allah.
Shiva and Vishnu.
And Mr. Buddha, who are you?
Is it a koan I present?
Perhaps.
We thank God for Aldo Fabrizi.
The humor of the birds.
Chirp a little softer so that I may finish the Lord’s Prayer.
And let us not neglect Christianity.
As we are embracing our brothers around the world.
Our sisters around the world.
Thank God for holy fools.
I
am only able to relate to the dirt.
The ground. The soil.
As we make our way without sandals.
But no.
We might need a peg and awl to fix them.
It was The Carolina Tar Heels back in 19 and 28.
1928.
There is a leper with a cowbell.
It means stay back.
Look away. I’m hideous.
We come humble to the table of the Lord.
Face down in a field of flowers.
Grappling with the beauty of it all.
And the Saints also have sadness.
Because it is a hard road.
To leave and be uprooted.
To see friends wade across to the other shore.
To Arezzo, perhaps. Spoleto. Pisa.
Disarming with his smile the ridiculous tyrant in his Picasso armor.
We do not understand.
Flat round.
We are but poor country people. Poor city folk. Provincial yahoos.
I will sit and enjoy the day…chewing on this leek.
All the actors forgotten.
Nonprofessionals.
Except Aldo Fabrizi.
And we have not thanked the auteur Roberto Rossellini.
Such a strange, simple piety which would so affect Truffaut and Godard.
To put oneself in the 12th…13th centuries.
And to lovingly portray the Franciscans.
Yes, it is good.
Joy now is good. Thank you God from your humble servant.
Not worthy to carry your flowers.
Pick the flowers but don’t harm the branches.
-PD
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