Saturday, October 27, 2012

On Center



On Center                                                                                        

A novel is not a depiction of reality
but, of reality charged with purpose.

Being on Center is like that.
No one enters casually its gates,

nor offhandedly empties out
onto the busy highway beyond;

no chance encounters nor random exchanges
and, around every corner –

infinite possibilities and yet ...
inevitable occurrences

charged with purpose and revelation;
hurtling towards a rendezvous

along the winding footpaths, within
the small cabins, the communal kitchens,

charged with purpose and beauty, nothing
left to chance, nurtured and arranged long ago –

and the invited drop in
and the uninvited hurry past

the pristine and infinite possibilities of such a place
built with love and responded to by Love Itself.

O child of God, home is where the heart is.  Hurry,
every chance you get, to His home in the west.

                             (Unpublished)

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