Canyon Walls: poem

I sleep with my head
on this pillow
and dream the dreams
of canyon walls, not
closing in but swinging
wide the avenues of
my nous, fortifying the
kardia—folding mind
and heart into one
prayer, inside this body-
temple; re-pairing this
ancient hospitality of
being—an invitation,
with crisp white edges,
to the Spirit to come
dwell within the walls
of my person. When
I awake, I weep with
joy and tentatively swing
my feet to the floor—
stepping out into my
life—onto holy ground.

Comments

  1. says

    Wonderful lines, especially “the avenues of / my nous” and “an invitation, / with crisp white edges”.

    All of you have returned filled with such inspiration. It’s heartening to read your posts.

  2. says

    Laura, it sounds to me like you are getting your joy back and rediscovering hope. I love your poem…what a beautiful way of putting it! Love this Holy Ground He gives us each day! Praise God!

  3. says

    There’s something about a place, a place like this one, that strips away that pretense and facade, for those of us willing to see ourselves in that beautiful barrenness. I walked that road from the Great Hall to Song Bluff House as least 7 or 8 times, and each time, each kick of the dust, reminded me of Someone washing my feet at journey’s end.

    Beautiful poem, Laura.

  4. Anonymous says

    “An invitation with crisp white edges.”

    That got to me, too. It’s how I feel about L.L.’s first chapter of God in the Yard.

    Step out, my friend.

  5. says

    “an invitation with crisp white edges”–what a beautiful way of seeing yourself. Lift up your heads, O you gates. Be lifted up you ancient doors! Thank you for sharing this beautiful poem. Blessings!

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