Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Sunday, January 30, 2011

My Church Has No Walls

I've never found God in a church
But I think I've found Him sitting at the bottom
     of a nice cup of tea.
I've never seen God in a temple
But I think I may have spied Him on a tree branch
     while the goldfinches ate thistle from the feeder.
I've never felt  peace while meditating
For my mind is too busy trying to be peaceful
But I've felt peace while watching raindrops 
     slide down my window.
I've never talked to God while praying
But when I move a turtle away from a busy road
Or squeeze through a door
     so as not to disturb the day's work of a spider
Maybe He understands me.

Am I somehow less to God
Because my religion has no name
And my church has no walls?

When I hear the barred owl call at dusk
I think I know God's voice.
When I witness the green striped caterpillar
     emerge into the swallowtail butterfly
I start to believe in the rebirth of the spirit.
When I listen to my child breath as she sleeps
And  feel the warm body of my love near me at night
I know I am blessed.
When I hear the gentle snores of the dogs
And the chirps of the crickets
And the coffee as it drips into the pot
     and waits, hot, for me in the morning
I believe.

submitted for Poetry Potluck Monday at Jingle Poetry


Evelyn said...

thats a great poem.
good stuff. beautiful.

Linda Bob Grifins Korbetis Hall said...

honest and creative,,
Thanks for sharing...


Anonymous said...

This poem touches the depths of the soul.

Kavita said...

How lovely!! I share your sentiment too, Lola... Religion is just a word/a name .. often abused...
The real act lies in appreciating everything around us... for without it, life would be so meaningless...

What a beautiful thought and poem, my friend!

Reflections said...

Stunning piece. Peaceful, spiritual, intense yet relaxing... wonderful take on the prompt.

Caribbean Fool said...

Interesting take of one of the theologians dilemmas. Read like very introspective musings on the subtle differences between religion and spirituality. Enjoyed reading your submission.


Anonymous said...

beautiful -- the poem and the honesty :)

kolembo said...

Oh! How gentle. Soft rhythm. Ya, very nice.

Anonymous said...

I sat in a church yesterday,listening to Mary Oliver read Tecumseh and on the hard pews,with hymnals close at hand,I heard a sob somewhere.Even there,even there in the wasteland a trace of the divine remains.Lovely poem,savor and keep speaking of your blessings-especially the religion with no name.

Flying Monkey said...

I agree. Beautiful poem!

Marcoantonio Arellano (Nene) said...

I sit quiet
to hear 'one voice'
then, all around me
speak at once.
Is this the voice?

Lolamouse, I believe our voices sing the same tune.

My name WAS Female, I shit you not! said...

I believe..............I am a member of your church.

Wonderfully written and given to those of us that believe that your deeds echo louder than your words when they bounce off four walls.

Bryan White said...

Great title. Very nice. I completely agree with what you're saying here.

Lolamouse said...

Wow! I awoke this morning to all these wonderful comments! I'm humbled that my poem touched a chord with so many of you. Thank you so much! Warm fuzzies to all!

Vinay Leo R. said...

very beautiful.. I think there is God everywhere, but depends on how we see His presence.. thanks for sharing!

mine is here:

Maggie said...

Brava, lolamouse.

Unknown said...

True spirituality beautifully, lovingly articulated.

Anonymous said...

Very nice.

Anonymous said...

God is every where and surely within us...lovely poem

JamieDedes said...

This is wonderful. I can relate. Nicely wrough poem and fine contribution to Potluck. Thank you! Hope you are enjoying your visits and visitors.

Other Mary said...

I think God is happy when She reads this :)

Anonymous said...

Your poem kept playing in my head,thought you might like to hear the echo,post as a comment-or not.
The walls are only privet

And there’s flotsam for a floor

The table ‘s a fallen tree trunk

And there isn’t any door.

Light through the leaves is windows

And bareheaded beneath the sky

I look with both shame and pride

Directly in god’s eye.

A hawk calls me to worship

He just cries one word “die”

His shadow passes over me

Perhaps the word was “try”.

Spiraling back again

Beneath the blue so high

The word I hear this time

Most surly it is “lie”.

At this my arms rise up

And from my throat breaks a cry

For in that circling shadowmaker

I perceive now my lover who did die.

She left me poems in her clear hand

Green ink that is long dry.

And spoke of how within my life

I would of our love lie.

The ways I would diminish

In my future wife’s eye

That fierce force that convulsed us both

As we did together fly.

And fight and tear most fiercely

With talons sharp to try

To tear out from each other

Some parts that would not die.

Those which we could not accept

In one with whom we would lie.

On Scottish hills and in Welsh towns

Our bliss blazed bright

Night after night.

But twas a passing thing we knew

For some thing was not right.

You penned the words we both knew deep

And they remain right here.

They tell of passion’s passing

Lies that were yet to be,

You knew they would be spoken

Both by you and me.

And wheeling high and keening

You tell again both what was and will be

And passion for you lives forever

As long as I am me.

Communion is crackers and beer

now the benediction’s near.

I’ll go and pass my seven days again

and hope to come back here.

Lolamouse said...

That's beautiful and heartbreaking. Thanks so much for sharing!

Sherry Blue Sky said...

This is incredibly beautiful, Lolamouse! I think we believe in the same God.