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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



Wednesday, October 13, 2021

home again

 

I have wandered home again,

for a few moments, to the place where I was born.

 

To the place where I grew and was shaped,

by alkali laden wind, and the smell of sage,

and roads that stretched on forever.

 

It is strange to see old places that are now new,

old places and old faces which are missing

new places and new face

 

people whose faces do not light-up with

recognition when they see you,

who do not exclaim, as some do

“you look just like you dad!”

 

For these moments times has slowed down,

creeping through the rabbit brush

and mountain mahogany

as the rich scents of the desert rise.

 

Some find this world unappealing,

empty and stark.

 

They praise the rivers and high mountains,

the rich lush places.

 

but this place too

can be Eden.

 

Eden is where one meets with God in the still of the morning

where prayers rise richly,

and prayers rise meekly and haltingly

 

Our meetings with God do not always have to

lush and profligate

Our prayers do not always have to rise of

rich soil

 

sometimes we find what we seek and need

in emptiness

sometimes our best prayers are a few halting words

 

sometimes we simply need to be

where we feel the wind

and stand alone

and naked

 

in a silent and open space

where Another Voice

can speak

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