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, November 7, 2019

The Scent of Light

Like a great starving beast my body
Is quivering, fixed on the scent of light

Some days
even on the brightest of days
when the sun rises brilliant
in an autumn sky

my soul is searching for the light
in the hungering darkness
of greed and hate
in the murky morass of graft and dishonesty

my soul seeks for that nurturing power
that can bring it to life
and help it grow

most days I find it
in the rising sun
in the gentle lean of Finn the dog against my leg
in an act of generosity and compassion observed
it is there

in all the usual places

but in places unusual too
it moments of disappointment
when a moment of peace intrudes, unexpected

in moments of failure, when I realise
I can let it go
and move on

here is the raw truth

there IS good in the world
and there IS Sacred

which is light

there is that power
which over comes evil with good

and the scent of light
permeates all

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