It was like church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.
There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart’s passions—that was praise
Enough; and the mind’s cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.
What a beautiful poem. I’m drawn to deepen my contemplation practice and as I often find, there’s a book I’ve had for years about it waiting for me again in my library. Into the Silent Land by Martin Laird. This poem was highlighted as I reviewed the book.