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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



Sunday, June 15, 2014

The fresh smell of grace

Why do you stay in prison
When the door is so wide open?”
― Rumi, The Essential Rumi
___________________________________________

There is a place called “peace”
there is a place called “love”

somewhere deep within
in that place where the seed of the sacred
lives
and breathes divine breath

all that I seek
is present

and yet I dwell in a place
where I wallow
in the muck of fear
and disillusionment

I am like that crazy mare
who hangs around in
deep manure next to the barn

hope for a bit of hay
or an alfalfa treat

while behind her
the gate lies open
and green grass beckons

time to smell the grass
 or rather
the fresh smell of grace

it beckons
 

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