Middle of the night waking. Disturbed dreaming. Wrestling with the mind. All going on in many places I expect. Gratitude for sleep. Remembering those who can't. Hunger,fear ,grief that keeps them awake and I am safe in my bed, soft breathing beside me,the walls of my home intact,the roof keeps me dry. What is God doing about all this. What good are my prayers. My wishes. For world peace. As a six year old on her birthday; as a teenager,as a mother,as a being.
Religion is a bicycle that gets you to the lowlands,the foothills of the mountain. Then you have to get off and walk.
The narrow earth path bending through the green, of hedge and leaf, the way ahead unseen.
Leave behind the vestments and the vespers.
Drop the daily prayer
The fasting and the feast
The mats and cushions
Candles, incense,bells.
Leave behind the deep dark smells
of buildings made of stone
Leave behind the cycle that got you there and walk.
The way is lonely.
Some days you might fall.
Some days you might think you've reached the top.
And in the dawn another summit up ahead
revealed.
You find that in the seeking a never end.
Until you see; the finding is the seeking
Around the path another bend.
