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, January 9, 2021

What if

what if those wise sages

necks aching from staring upward

windblown and dried out


after all those time

trudging through the sand toward the star


what if after that cryptic

and slimy contact with the

man in the throne


and that final hopeful rush to Bethlehem

had stared not in wonder

but in horror at the gift of heaven


what if they had seen in that wrinkled

squalling child of poverty

merely another peasant brat

and not the King of Heaven?


What if the sages were not so sage,

but with minds fill with dreams of power

and hearts filled with avarice


would have proclaimed the star a lie

and Micah fake news,

and turned away,

hugging their treasures to themselves

and muttering invectives?


it would of course

not have changed the truth

for truth is truth


but would they have returned another way,

or would they have trudged dispiritedly back to Jerusalem

full of resentment and lusting for revenge?


Blessed are the journeyers

who wander on their way with eyes that see

the glimpses of the light

that draw them further on and deeper in


Blessed are the journeyers

who travel intent on delivering gifts

rather than receiving them


Blessed are those who with wisdom

have ears that hear the truth

and can pick up the echoes  of falsehood


Blessed are those who, wherever their journey takes them,

find at the end



and with minds twirling

hearts soaring

souls dancing


gifts falling from their hands

fall prostrate before Love


and then rise

on their way again


their hands empty

but taking with them the light

that spills from the

illuminating the darkness

every step they take


as they find their way home

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