The Goodly Fragrance

 

the goodly fragrance of cedar

if i really wanted to worship, to

throw myself before God, to be

sanctified, sanctuaried, redeemed,

restored in

my soul, i would walk away from

the massive baptismal font,

Lake Huron, toward the towering

cathedral of cedar beams.  Unbelievers

call the cedars “the woods,” forsaking the

mystery of being covered, holified.

i would crunch my way across the carpets

of green and gold needles, cast off

by the angels hurrying heavenward

for the night to dream the dream of the

next cathedral.

 

My needle-crunching time would take me to the

cathedral-centre

(I would simply know I was there). I would drop

to my knees and fall on my back, looking

through the tall caps of evergreens and into

the heavenly blue sky. And I would listen, deeply, openly

with absolute silence to the Silence.  sometimes there

would be the sounds of silence.  sometimes music.

sometimes a quiet pentecost of saints. and always the

Holiest of all Theories whispering to my heart.  Throwing

my arms and legs out, I would make a needle angel

in the cedar and breathe in regenerated life.  Then would

come rest in manifold senses, with Ultimate Rest coming in

the Sense of Wonder.

 

This is a ritual, rich and evanescent, along my solitary

journey until one day i shall walk out, with every

ounce of the sacramental alive in its cathedral quietude.

and I shall continue to lie down, weightless,

listening until the Holiest sings me to sleep and

carries me home.

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