Making a living
I was once a working man,
hands strong,
calloused from the rub of
making a living.
Also grown thick, toughened
up –
my heartskin within its
cavern and cage,
leathery from the world’s
rough handling.
My hands today are soft as a
baby’s –
clean, idle, while my heart
is daily
more tender and sore as it
emerges
from its enclosure, more
willing
to take in the ache of flesh
and world
as it suits my Lord’s will –
a blessed penance
and the required estrangement
from self
on the long journey through
and beyond
this clamorous Illusion to that
hidden Sanctuary.
O child of God, retire from
the world
and open your heart to the
eternal.
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