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

Thursday, February 7, 2013

My Wound is the Place

I sit and think
of times past
of moments
where time was timeless
and there was nothing
 but joy

there was that time
when I felt as one
as if my body
my mind
my heart
my soul
were knit together by a wondrous love
that both
bound me
and freed me

soaring I knew love
and God
and I was planted in the earth
rooted in
what is
like a pine that has long stood
its roots
its essence stretching deep
into the richness

but winds have come
and time
and I am twisted and torn
my heart wood
torn and exposed
my roots ripped from the fabric of
timeless place

my wounds show raw
 and I hang
precariously to the rich
of God's love

and in such a moment
 My wound is the place where the Light enters

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