The Grand Artisan

God, the ultimate Artist.
The supreme Scientist.
The intimate presence within,
and throughout this existence.
Regenesis … poetry in motion.
Is she masculine?
Or is he feminine?
Is the answer
beyond our understanding?
Is this life
but an artistic documentary?
Seen through all the agony
and the ecstasy …
the triumph and the tragedy?
Have we truly
been given a free hand
by the Artisan Grand?

Or are we rats in a laboratory?
Are we but particles
within the part and parcel
of subatomic intricacy?
Just mere quarks
traversing the dark?
An infinitesimal part
of a dimension mechanical?
Speaking relativity,
where is the power and the glory?
A perpetual quantum
crunching the numbers
in some mindless continuum.
Is that the universal story?

“The starry host but a breath
of His mouth. Stars forming,
and not a one missing!
Led forth and called by name.”

Is life but the echo
of a big bang smoke ring?
Something so bright
from the darkness of nothing?
Is biodiversity itself,
a missing key?
All tied up in knots
by a Theory of String?
Can a Theory of Everything
actually tell me a thing?
Did a ‘God Particle’
give existence it’s zing?
The universe it’s substance?

Dimensions within,
dancing upon the head of a pin .
Am I by design
an accidental fundamentalist?
A partaker in creation?
Or just a bewildered tourist?
Are we all painting pictures in time?
Drawing a fine line
by celestial design?
Or are we committing
by not admitting …
to the graffiti of all crime?

The Universe unfolding.
Searching for meaning,
with equations empty
and beguiling.
A series of numbers
adding up to zero.
Yet all of nature reveals
there is a hand
conducting the band
… the true Supernatural Hero.

Sifting the ether
for that purity of essence.
Woefully mislaid,
an absence of innocence.
The Consciousness Human,
wonderfully made,
yet a dim reflection,
from a mirror broken.

The Master Craftsman,
hand unseen,
dispersing, dispensing,
expressing,
calling … as behind a curtain.
Yet known
in the very depths of our being.
For, “We are such stuff
as dreams are made of.”
My theory of everything
starts with … In the beginning.

Visions of angels singing
songs of celestial love.
Supernatural the high,
like a cool hand
in a warm glove.
Like a dove electric
transmitting love ecstatic
from Heaven above.
Garlands and rose petals
descending,
with the rising
… the overcoming,
the growing,
the passion desiring.
Gracious beauty abounding.
All in all, and everything
in the midst of Him,
holding together all things.

Out weighing gravity.
Outpacing relativity .
Like a singer of soul
riding the sweeps,
from the highest of highs,
to the deepest of deeps.
In three-quarter time,
playing for keeps.

Flowing through
the Word poetic,
an eclectic prismatic.
The joyful ecstatic
buzzing with angelic static.
As lightening sings
in spiralling rings.
Salvation,
divine restoration,
heaven sent,
revving up the revelation
of the eternally relevant.
(Not the pulling of strings) .

The whirlpool galaxies
all in a spin.
The fullness of the Universe,
beyond all imaginings.
This material realm vibrates
in anticipation.
A fanfare of celebration
for the Author of Creation.

The Most Senior Physicist,
in who’s grasp lies the future,
the past, and all that exists.
His loving presence, forbearance,
and patience, in pursuit of you.
Pursue what is True.
Not the celebrity physicist
and evangelizing atheist who
puts on his lab coat and mysteriously
becomes an expert theologist
(like glimpsing a Zoo
makes you a Zoologist),
who lectures and conjectures.
Puffed up like a puffer fish,
with a shaking fist,
trying to negate the positive
in a petri dish.
Freedom of speech? … Yes!
But please do not preach
on things way beyond
your microscopic reach.
Biology, astronomy,
and theology … all in a twist!

Trapped In a vortex
at the sharp edge of existence.
Always standing in line
behind the sentinels aligned
at the memorial to war.
Yet the whisper of a trace,
the scent of a taste,
of things only hoped for.
Quiet lives,
always longing for more.
Unanswered questions,
big and small,
written on desperate faces,
screaming for an open door.
Perplexed in confusion.
Is faith in big love
just a romantic delusion?

Amid strung out dimensions
of black holes orbiting,
and the cosmos recycling,
a precious pearl is forming.
Star bright, love shining
and overflowing.
With a countenance glowing.
Faith sustaining
. . . Kingdom within.

The universe is but a fuse
held in the palm
of a master technician.
Within a world
of humanoid dysfunction
the big picture
soon to surface
as a circuit breaker is coming.

Witnessing lives of
loud and proud desperation,
citizens of Rebel Nation
begin a riot of confrontation.
Lives of Spirit filled meditation,
interfacing with
the Infra Structuralist,
(better know as Christ Jesus).
Forever interlacing the embracing,
and, with Whom, love is a must.
Upon the carousel of revelation,
the inspiration
of God given imagination.
Does the Artist do it
. . . for recreation?

Nuclear baby booming
war generationals
and seminal millennials
did you see the world dissolving?
Bubbling as in a boiling cauldron
of plastic sin?
But highly valued is your
socially engineered opinion!
Getting back
to the organic garden
with hope, faith, and love
out worked with action,
are the true keys
to planetary restoration.

Struggling through
the barbed wire
of recrimination,
cold and hungry.
Skyclad, and on the run,
throughout the endless
friendless night.
Like Armenian starvation,
the force feeding
of turkish delight,
in the denial of deep spite.
Lost in a place of misdirection.
For the love of God, pleading,
seeking morning’s warming light.
In a strange land
finding the rock solid friend.
Becoming a whole new creation.
A jumpstart to the heart
~ Resurrection.
I’m just beginning to understand,
by the works of His hand,
the smallest strand of a plan.
Designed with love
by the Artisan most grand.

Art … not for art sake.
In the big scheme of things
there’s too much at stake.
True creativity
flows from a place of intimacy
with the passion and the glory
of Holy Divinity . . . and
with the friends that you make.

~ by David B. Redpath © 2017-20

Artwork;
L’Annuncio (The Trinity)
~ by Salvador Dali

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Hidden Treasure . . .
found in the bowels of the Vatican.

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Gala ascending … a scene from
Salvador Dali’s bedroom ceiling.

Photography:
David & Linda redpath © 2017-2020
Stefan Redpath © 2020

“Art is the highest form of hope.”
~Gerhard Richter

156 thoughts on “The Grand Artisan”

    1. Yes … there’s no denying, Belinda,
      existence is an amazing thing.
      It can seem to be just a maze of things.
      But life is the thing that gives this
      existence it’s zing 🌀⚡ 😎

      Like

      1. I believe that is how it seems to a lot of people. Your words build tension well and take the reader on a great journey/thought process, invoking sensations well known to many, and some not so well known nor understood; Perhaps not ever experienced. Enjoyable read – thank you.

        Liked by 1 person

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