I sit and stare
Into the where
Of within me
At the world of words and sounds and sights,
Peoples and places and empty spaces,
And under it all
A small oasis of Silence
Where time ceases to be
And I am part of eternity.
Home is where the heart is not famished, the eye not starved, the Sacred not banished or desecrated. The Sacred cannot be caught in formulas. It cannot be analyzed, not even in terms of ecology, as beauty cannot be caught in the semantics of esthetics. Fingers pointing toward the Transcendent need no vocabulary, for they do not preach. Beyond the dialects of all religions they witness to a religious attitude toward life itself.