I wake to walk in the soul’s flaming darkness
where Presence burns and is not consumed.
In thick clouds stands the alter of Your dwelling,
among tall trees and silent pools;
grace-lined faces with kind eyes;
baby cries and dark-skinned beauties;
poor shepherds and kneeling kings.
Crippled things rise up and sing here.
All is health or healing in these winds,
where to be is to bend the knee,
bow the head and breathe.
No shame may enter this sanctuary
where dark and light are labeled “good.”
No battles fought but Love’s, with Love.
All is held. All is whole. All is free.