The merest shadow
O Beloved, before I met You I was a devout believer,
clinging to a hundred stolen truths.
Now I find I am slowly losing my religion.
When it’s gone, when my pockets are empty,
I will float above this world like an angel.
Jesus drove the moneychangers from the temple,
those who judged and measured,
bargained and quibbled,
those who accumulated and divided.
When You get through with me there’ll be
nothing left –
not the vaguest hint of a semblance of the merest shadow
of a dream.
I removed my sandals at Your threshold,
but my bare feet stained the surface
of Your pure stone floor.
This unholy container of flesh and blood, mucous,
phlegm, sweat and tears
tainted the atmosphere of Your immaculate shrine.
O Beloved, what is at the heart of me
that You tolerate such intolerable insults
and move, ever closer, ever more intimate and involved?
O child of God, if you are made of clay, how will you
ever be scrubbed clean?
Your Beloved is drawn to the inviolate Source
of who you really are.
(from The Garden of Surrender)