2 minute read

Pillar

Pillar

Leaning slightly backward, legs spread shoulder width, His arms folded across his chest, he stands stock-still, Looking out across a field of boys engaged in play. Ambiguous gaze, as if the budding strength and speed, The half-realized agility and poise, the exuberant surface Which delights the eye but does not hold the mind, Were not his focus. He witnesses beneath the maneuver Of muscle and nerve, the jostle of bodies in motion, The more perilous play of virtue and vice, of character And the heart’s urgent struggle to make life worth living.

He stands, and looks, and in a little while will move, Stepping onto the field, leaning down into their lives; Placing the strength of his big-hearted hand on their shoulders, He gently then begins his lessons, teaching them to be more agile, More skillful, more mindful of playing the game. But mostly, By voice, eye, and touch he opens their hearts to goodness, Helping them discover, in mud and sweat, victory and defeat, That within themselves there is room enough to stretch, To stand unafraid, and with dignity to play the only game that counts..

The Ancients saw in myth so much we need to see: The celestial firmament, the panoply of heaven, Rests on pillars rooted at the edge of the world, And in them heaven and earth forever join, Giving us air and light and room to breathe.

—Thomas B. Pruit

Beginning his 24th year of teaching English at Cistercian

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