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

Wednesday, September 13, 2017


“But most days,
I wander around feeling invisible.
Like I'm a speck of dust
floating in the air
that can only be seen
when a shaft of light hits it.”
                                            Sonya Sones,

Sometimes I feel as substantial
As a speck of dust

Something separated from the earth
Not so much set free
As cast adrift


Where does this place of isolation come from?
Why is it that I struggle to find a place to land,
Where I belong
Where I feel “in place”?

Is that I am propelled by the wind?
It is that people always brush off the dust?
Or is it that I am simply unable to
Let go of those things that cause me to strive, and protect
And close off

Those things that keep me detached
And isolated

A speck of dust

Floating on air

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