© 2004 Patrick Beaupre
© 2004 French-speaking Association of Readers of the Urantia Book
Only a poet can discern poetry in the mundane prose of life… (UB 48:7.22)
Silence !..
It’s getting late, night is coming quickly.
I turn the page and close the book,
I can almost sleep.
My soul is at rest, and the night will be calm.
I’m not afraid of anything anymore.
Somewhere in the sky,
Someone knows I love him.
Somewhere in the sky,
Someone is reaching out to me
I must admit today that after reading the book
There is a poetry that surpasses the others and pushes you
to the emotion as she makes you vibrate to the rhythm of her words which go beyond words and fill the sentences with a sweet scent of love.
As I feel you languishing to want to discover the object of my writing, I will not delay in naming here the place of my emotion, the place of my Eden which enchants the heart and forces beauty when it makes you cry because everything there is grandeur, love and voluptuousness. I will hear you speak of these bouquets of prose which spring to life and dot the book at the end of each chapter and leave you speechless as your heart is broken in the final apotheosis of a distant horizon where happiness is lost.
Each of these masterful endings is a hymn to the divine, a hymn to the human and no sensitive reader could resist the delicious happiness of so much infinity.
What amount of faith, passion and love must one have to be able to pour out so many truths so perfectly with so much force and infinite tenderness.
And what humility in wanting to teach the limited beings that we are today when we know you are so great, when we know you are so strong, when we know you are so “high”.
In the multiplicity of revelation, every chapter is unique, every chapter is alive. In each subject treated, there is an agreement, a sort of tuning fork which unites man to God whatever the level, whatever his state with the same love, with the same passion.
Could this not be the secret of happiness, coherent harmony, the constructive magic of human equality?
In each paragraph and throughout the book there is, I assure you, a plan of progression which leads ever higher if we are willing to follow it.
Each chapter in itself is a source of progress.
It is a long river of love, a precious gift from the Gods from which we can draw pearls of culture, jewels of goodness.
Find happiness in quenching one’s thirst at the well of truth. Help the unfortunate who wanders in the dark, and give him hope, this bread of life which overwhelms the heart and satisfies the spirit.
This is what I think, this is what I read.
But can you hear beyond what I still have to say?..
When the end of a chapter comes, I must be alone to savor this time that surpasses time. It is an intense pleasure, a gift of happiness where nothing exists anymore, except the leisure to taste the space that restrains each word and embraces the sentences: the final resonance!
It’s drinking in your fill of the work accomplished when it’s done so well.
It enhances in the heart the part of purity which relieves the body and ennobles the soul.
So when everything is said, there is nothing left. The mission accomplished, we still have love, we still have hope, trust and faith and that is already a lot!
Above all, there is the nostalgia for “the other”, this spiritual bond.
The well-being is gone and everything is different.
With each passing moment, I walk in his footsteps, I walk on the idea as one walks on sand. The footprints fade away, the sea embraces them to better carry them away.
The thought of writing is a fire that consumes. I burn with wanting, I burn with knowing, and I remain there as if annihilated.
After having said everything, time seems longer. And I lose myself in dreams as one drags oneself alone, as one finds oneself stupid on the platform of a station when the train has left and disappeared.
Nostalgia, there is no one left! Only me, the silence and the darkness where tears are absorbed.
So what remains is writing, this wonderful return that I can relive as much as I want.
Shh!
At the other end of the sky someone is watching me. He knows what I think, he knows what I am experiencing! He knows that these writings will allow me to live the most beautiful experiences ever imagined.
He also knows that we live better when we know how to listen to the great voices of silence, when we know how to listen to the great blue book.
Patrick Beaupre
Thank you to all these wonderful invisible beings without whom I am nothing.