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, September 11, 2014

The Quiet of the Deep

gone is the mountain
gone are the trees
and the sun rising over the seven devils
gone are the deer
and the crisp air of a mountain valley

beneath my lies jagged asphalt
and my trek talks me along
a busy road
flanked by tired and tattered businesses
mobile homes
sitting not quite level on concrete blocks
and small sagging houses
guarded by ancient and rusted pickups

still the rhythm is the same
still I walk
left foot, right foot
still I breathe and go deep
and find and touch the quiet warmth of the sacred Presence

this day I am reminded of a time so many years ago
when violence tore apart the towers
and tore apart lives
and tore apart a nation

and in that calm place I ache
for the violence returned
and the violence perpetuated
we have not won with our military might
with our planes and rockets and drones

we have lost, we all have lost
and yet
in that deep calm place
is quiet

a peace that 9/11 cannot destroy
a quiet that cannot be drowned out by passing trucks
a sense of richness that cannot be negated by the ragged world I walk through

beneath the roiling surface of the ocean
a wise person once said
is the quiet of the deep

within us too
is that deep and quiet place
where we greet the sacred
face to face

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