Sweeping the Temple
Dawn on a steel gray sea, the rain-cleansed earth breathes; ancient trees and freshened grass share the hallowed space. Quietly I sweep the inner temple
Dawn on a steel gray sea, the rain-cleansed earth breathes; ancient trees and freshened grass share the hallowed space. Quietly I sweep the inner temple
Old roots reach deep water, travel through hardpan and stone to the well beneath the earth. There the wealth of many winters, full with light
Flood tide fills the coves and beaches, with sunlight bright on a calm sea. Beauty enters the hollow places, bringing peace to heart and mind
Sun and stars bathe the Earth in light, illuminating the soul in morning solitude and sacred dark. We journey through cosmos gathered in this embrace,
In the still morning the sound of whale’s breath, geese in flight, fog horns in the distance. Close as always the comfort of silence and
The blue gray morning signals autumn’s approach with the clouds of late summer. The green world breathes under gentle rain; mosses come to life, green
Sunlight on the water this cool September morning, with rain clouds over the distant island; the earth pitch-perfect in communion. It took a lifetime of
In the dawn hour the sea lies flat between tides, no wind or movement, only the quiet of the coming day. As the sun rises
Communion is hard to come by when so much is based on untruth. Addiction to lying demands increasing doses, until the body collapses under the
My cask of praise empty, the last words of thankfulness consumed in the burnt forest, I struggle to the altar heart weary and without solace.
The morning won’t deceive you with its freshened air and sound of birds. You needn’t rely on memory; the timeless touch is on every plant.
South wind breaks in waves against the ebbing tide, sunlight falls in shafts on the rain-soaked shore. As I follow the sea’s motion anchors of
Lifted on summer waves, the pulse of life carries us beyond decay. New seeds crack open, revealing pale forms with boneless limbs, aching for daylight.
He visits the well in early morning, before the day opens for business. With a battered tin cup he dips out words and fragments to
He lingers on the Moon and the pale light of Arcturus as the valley heat passes over. After years of avid collecting, he fixes his