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03/15/10 - (1)
Sunday Worship
This being the fourth day of my spirit's pilgrimage north, A Sunday unlike any I've spent in nine weeks, I decide to attend worship service in this natural church, Give praise to the lord of mornings glorified, Maker of afternoons sanctified, shaper of nights divine.
My cabin's side door opens into a sweet-scented sanctuary, And I behold the hovering fog that suffuses these premises, Whose tangible mysteriousness, this 7 a.m., Enraptures me, with its deep serenity. Gradually, as I listen to the whispering mist,
I witness the sun, the nascent sun, the ascending sun — Who goes not by God or YHWH, Jesus, Allah, Buddha, But Father of Pine Cone, Lake, Lichen, Star, Tree, Fox, Moon, Man — Lift the drifting vapors with it, Until they disappear into the sky's blue-vaulted cathedral.
What He leaves behind, in His widening, benevolent wake, Leaves me and all His creations, animate and otherwise, Is a warmth so luminous, so generously penetrating, so vibrant, That I begin to understand the real meaning of faith; It's that pulsating feeling of salvation that sets my body aglow.
All the rest of this blessed fifty-degree holy day, I stroll as if in an immaculate trance, reveling in just being, Sensing the endlessness of my immediate life, Finding myself, finally, at the lake, out on its icy altar. And as the sun descends, in its gold-red blends, I breathe amen.
03/15/10 - (1)
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