Barefoot In The Sacred

Masked Native

in the sacred

Step outside the garden door,

with bare feet on cold concrete,

and after the realisation that it’s not so bad,
you can bear it,
move on to the dew wet morning grass,
to the uncut patch,
where the secret life within grounds you
to the heart of your heart,
to the world heart,
to the one sacred whole where you know yourself in everything,
where everything has it’s peace,
and even inanimate objects
find their rest in the sacred.

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