A Druid Walks in Lemuria

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I read with interest Crone Jane's last message on prayer and meditation. I am and have always been intrigued by the various different interpretations of both that there are in the world. I like Jane’s definition that prayer is asking, meditation is listening. I do believe they are intertwined and that even in the intense, focused act of prayer, one probably out to stop fairly often and . . . listen. Here is a poem of mine some will find heretical. It is at least ironic, as I sit here encased in walls of stone. Poor Francis . . . God said “rebuild my church,” and beautiful Francis thought he meant the building. Some people never get past thinking it is a building, that the Divine is made of stone. I don’t mind being inside the walls for this time; my lair has openings to the winds twelve quarters, the trees twine inside and the birds come and go. Through them I can see the full circle of the sky and watch the Lady Moon in her dance across the heavens. And of course, I know how to open all the doors and I know the way to the grove.



The Druid Walks in Zion

Wherefore build temples of bricks and clay
And wash them white
Spired symmetrically round?
Man in his delusions
Building with his frail hands
Another ladder to heaven
Concrete steps to carry him to the stars
A ephemeral vessel in which to talk to God
To pull on his sleeve
To hold his collars
Until we are sure he hears our weighty words
Gifted with speech, man has filled the universe
With the whispering of his importance
And forgotten that in stillness
One can hear

Wherefore build temples of bricks and clay?
When The Temple is here in eternal peace
Built in savored splendor by infinite hands
Before temporal man ever thought to speak
Pointing with glory in a stretch to the sky
Cradling heaven in a circle of immortal stone
Wherefore build temples of bricks and clay?
Walk soft here in the sacred silence of His space
And...
Listen


©Edwina Peterson Cross