Sunday, July 22, 2012

The liturgy this hidden
country breathes
is a dance of living
emptiness. Its smoky desert
heart brings secrets home:
crows flying in peace
with eagles, a
transformation shining
like a bonfire's
dream.
The nearest temple is your own
barefooted truth. The God
you are learning to love
might bring you anything,
now, if you listen, if
you see, if you
let his wild
and claiming silence
begin.

©Laura Sorrells 2012
all rights reserved
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8 comments:

  1. sageJuly 23, 2012 at 6:30 AM

    I love the ending of your poem--temple as your own barefooted truth. Last week I was pondering 1 Corinthians 3, which ends with Paul talking about us being a temple. And the idea of "learning to love God," reminds me of a quote from Merton that in prayer we will always be beginners. And the ending, God bringing you anything, in silence (Psalm 46:10)... Nice!

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    Replies
    1. LauraAugust 13, 2012 at 7:15 PM

      and your comment about Merton reminds me of Shunryu Suzuki's thought about beginner's mind---how there are many possibilities there, while in the expert's mind there are few. I don't understand that, actually, although I thought I did. but it resonates for me nonetheless.

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  2. LauraJuly 23, 2012 at 11:51 AM

    Thank you. I wrote it while I was at Gethsemani this past weekend. I'm glad you like it. and I think "barefooted" works better than barefoot. I hope I am always a beginner. I think that's inevitable. Maybe.

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  3. Steve FinnellAugust 4, 2012 at 2:50 AM

    you are invited to follow my blog

    ReplyDelete
  4. LauraAugust 5, 2012 at 4:08 PM

    thank you. I will check it out.

    ReplyDelete
  5. red crowAugust 11, 2012 at 9:41 PM

    This is beautiful, mam.

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  6. erinAugust 13, 2012 at 8:15 AM

    perhaps why god does not answer (usually) is because we ask the wrong questions.

    this line is particularly important, but as with great poems (and i think this is a great poem) every line is important:

    The nearest temple is your own
    barefooted truth.

    it allows for each person's particular truth, or sight, or individual, or church, or method of prayer. we are incapable of existing outside of the "i", although we can manage to flash beyond it at times.

    we must reduce expectation and dissolve in order to see.

    this is an incredibly beautiful and inviting poem, laura.

    xo
    erin

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  7. LauraAugust 13, 2012 at 7:13 PM

    we must reduce expectation and dissolve in order to see." yes, that feels right. something along the lines of giving up love for Love's sake is in there too. erin, it always makes me happy when you comment on my blog.
    Robert! thank you!

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About Me

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Georgia, United States
I live at the edge of the forest in a little town in the north Georgia mountains. I teach sixth grade Language Arts and am writing a memoir of sorts about family, spirituality, and narrative. I am also exploring a possible writing project having to do with contemporary lay contemplative experience and how it might be informed by the Desert Fathers and Mothers of early Christianity. I am a relatively recent convert to Roman Catholicism and an admirer of Pope Francis, Leonardo Boff, Joan Chittister, and Richard Rohr. I'm a Lay Associate of Our Lady of the Holy Spirit Monastery in Conyers, Georgia. I am interested in indigenous cultures, narratives, and spirituality, especially how these can inform my spirituality as a lay contemplative. I write, read, take pictures, play around with creating ephemera from paper and cloth and other organic things. I cook, hike, watch wildlife, and collect random bits of interesting oddness, both tangible and abstract. I am a seer of smallness and a caretaker of ridiculous minutiae. If you want, e-mail me at riverrun67@gmail.com or lksorrells@hotmail.com.