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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



Saturday, June 11, 2016

Inside looking out

A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in--what more could he ask?
A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.
                                                           Victor Hugo, Les Misérables
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it is one of those days
when the world closes in
clouds hover above the ground, glowering

a soft mist falls
and in the feeble light leaves glisten with moisture

the cat hovers under a bush
and the horses huddle unnder the big fir

I sit inside, looking out
I am surrounded by my books, by manuscripts finished and unfinished
Paperwork to finish

this is my place, my center

usually I am too busy to sit
and look out the window
and notice the drops of moisture dripping off the lilac bush
the glow of the basalt in the rain
the neon color of the golden barberry bush, glowing
the eerie light filtering
through wetly dense clouds,

that streak of light, finally breaking through
setting one lone tree aflame

perhaps we all need more times
when we sit quietly
at the center of who we are
snuggled with the Sacred (who may well be a cat)
looking out
pondering
noticing
receiving little gifts of grace

finding again the space to breathe
and feel
and


remember who we are

contemplation

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