The Worship of Place – Skeptical Surrealist

by Tom Hirons

There is a temple I know whose roof is made of sky.

On its ceiling are painted clouds and stars

And the rooms and corridors are made of leaves and branches;

Its doors are open to all people, day and night.

Anyone may enter, whether or not they listen

To the wise words spoken within.

I know a synagogue through which a river flows

Against boulders inscribed with scriptures of moss,

Where salmon leap in exaltation and wild doves sing.

The rabbi has a beard of green-grey lichen and

His prayers are carried on the gurgling silver stream.

I know a mosque in which every direction is sacred.

Within that holy place, I see the face of the beloved

Beneath every stone and in the heart of every flower.

Fallen oak leaves are the flurries of the faithful, dancing;

The call to prayer is sung upon the whirling, wild wind.

The priestess of this shrine bars entry to no one;

She greets me in silence and in silence I depart.

Everyone is welcomed in for worship;

The congregation of all creatures give praise

And offerings to the hallowed sanctuary;

The object of their veneration is the world itself.

When I arrive in this boundless cathedral,

With my eyes unclouded by guile or cunning,

I know the presence of such exquisite beauty

And a joy so intense it’s almost unbearable.

I fall over myself trying to find the best way to worship;

I press my back against the trunk of a broad tree

Or a tower of cracked, stacked stones;

I tell my confession to the twisted heather,

And bow down before the yellow-flowered gorse;

I renew my vows in the presence of the damsel fly

And receive the blessing of the magpie and the wren.

All the while, skylarks carry my prayers to heaven.

At the altar of this great temple,

There is a fountain, invisible to my eyes.

If my worship is whole-hearted, I am washed

Clean of sorrow and all my restless thirst

Is quenched.

Standing in this sublime sanctuary,

I am cracked in two and an old well

Bubbles in my heart once again.

The water is so clear and delicious,

I cannot keep it to myself.

Will you come with me to that fountain now

And fill your cup of longing from this endless, untamed spring?