The Cry of a Soul

Sitting at an outside table at Starbucks, I’m sipping on a hot chocolate on a cool Autumn morning in the centre of the nation’s capital. Gazing around, I cannot help but be impacted by my surroundings. The towering, largely colourless buildings with their rigid, unforgiving lines stand arrogantly proud, and the clutter of signage and advertising is like visual noise clamouring for our attention like hawkers in a marketplace. I begin to wonder at the unmet need in man that drives us to create such synthetic places, and the determination to convince ourselves that we are happy in them.

As urban populations increase, and the sprawl of suburban housing continues to creep across the once lovely areas of our countryside, is it possible that as a people we are losing our appreciation for nature? Those that live, work or play in cities can quickly forget the simple pleasure of the feel of grass under their feet, and rain becomes an inconvenience because it ruins one’s hair.

Even in the suburbs nature has become something that must be tamed to serve us – we plant formal gardens to complement the outdoor entertaining area we have built. Trees planted in the city are there not for their beauty or regalness, but to soften the lines of the monoliths we have erected as monuments to our own glory. And we tear down trees decades old without blinking in order to accommodate our selfish drive to build our own palaces. Could it be that with every new building that goes up, humanity’s God-consciousness comes down?

As we marvel at some architect’s masterpiece instead of being in awe at the creation of THE Master Architect; as we congratulate ourselves on our own effort instead of being humbled by His; as we agonise over choice of brick and carpet for hours instead of being lost in wonder at the industry of an ant, are we losing ourselves as well?

When we exchange the crunch of an autumn leaf underfoot for the rustle of notes in our wallet and we settle for nostrils full of diesel fumes instead of lungs full of fresh air are we really better off?

Why have we been so willing, so eager, to embrace what we think we want at the cost of what truly satisfies? We have exchanged the Creator for the created. And when we fail to notice the frenzy of the bees in springtime or the perverseness of the sea as it tosses in a storm; when we miss a magpie being teased by a cheeky willy-wagtail or we don’t see the dance of a leaf in the wind; when we miss the caress of a gentle breeze on our cheek or don’t appreciate the warmth of the winter sun on our back; when the flash of a dolphin’s fin fails to enthral us or when the magnitude of the vista spread before us on a mountaintop doesn’t leave us breath-taken, then we are truly poor in soul, though our pockets may be full. What a grief! But sadder still – will we know it?

In the song of a swallow or the sound of a bubbling stream; the rich fragrance of a rose or the aroma of the earth itself after rain – these are the things that let us know we are truly alive. If we are unable to recognize and connect to our Creator in such simplicity, but crave instead the artificial experiences and sensations that we produce for ourselves, but that still leave us destitute deep within, then to where does the anguished soul turn?

Victoria Bright – 11th March, 2007