Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Monday, November 28, 2011

Thoughts on November Morning

A gray morning
Gray on gray as the mist
Wanders tentatively through the woods

In the quietness  
all seems settled
everything is in its place
and all is well

And yet underneath the stillness
is a stirring,
a moving
a living.

Leaves rustle
A bird lifts its head
in search of the goddess sun,
magnificent and solitary
a sentinel on a branch

A soul at rest
Not dead, no gravestone and no eulogy
But stirring with the energy of love

A exuberant quietness


God, may the energy of love
Move me not to dormancy
But to action

In this day may I be awake to your presence
May I be let the spirit move in my soul
As the mist moves in the trees
May I practice your presence,
And may I attend in love,
To the people
You place in my path this day

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