Shrine

"Wade the warm stream to
The shrine across the river of golden sound,
Where a drunken bee drones the holy syllable
Over a crimson lotus.
Rich mango magenta and spice offerings
Are piled high by the devout.
Entering into hut of blue stone--
Cool black interior smeared with incense and
Pierced with tiny triangles of candle flame--
Ordinary cares fall to the crystalline floor.
Fiery letters appear in the air
And reappear in your heart."

I see it as part of my calling to make everywhere I go better for having borne my presence, and to leave every place better than I found it. So what if that makes me sound like a Girl Scout? I learn more and more that holiness is simple; rituals for their own sake make it complicated, but rituals for His purpose help me focus and streamline. As I place my trust in Him, he places me where I need to be to make my life, and myself, holy in His name. In many ways, I'm at a point of starting over now. I'm grateful to be able to pick up my tools and move forward, making a way for Him to be in me, so that I become the holy place.