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

Friday, July 17, 2015

May Sacred Wind Blow

I look for one simple and open enough
to see the Friend, not an intelligence
weighing several perspectives.

I want an empty shell to hold this pearl, not
a stone who pretends to have a secret
center, when the surface is all through.

I want one who can quit seeing himself,
fill with God and, instead of being

irritated by interruption and daily
resentments, feel those as kindness.

"I am a hole in a flute that the Christ's breath moves through."

I see so much
white knuckle faith
trodding carefully through life

eyes narrowed
fists clenched
lips pursed

hearts bolted and padlocked
God safely tucked away
somewhere deep within their souls

no one
no thing can get in
the world with its hunger and needed
bounces off them
as they trod, trod, trod

nothing gets out
not love
not compassion
not Sacred love

may Sacred wind blow
may we be
filled by Sacred Presence
may we be

may the hurt of the world get in
and be transformed into compassion

may we leak Sacred love
and be
the instruments through whom
redemption song

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