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.
No comments:
Post a Comment