Morning Walk

a poem

Jillene Lund’s Zenshuck Healing Sanctuary

Green and morning-still

Was the forest.

As I wandered the solid path beneath

My feet, my thoughts followed

Their own winding path through

My mind,

Drawn here or there to the sun sliding through the leaves,

The creaking wood of a half-fallen tree, still falling.

Trees rise up — those that still stand — and out

From the verdant sea

Like faraway masts of mighty ships, helmed by brave captains.

They hold up the sky.

Pantheon pillars.

And I think —

This place is a sanctuary.

No, a temple.

It is a chapel, a mosque, a synagogue, a roofed place

Of worship.

This is the place we should offer our prayers

This is where we should come

To cross our legs and sit

In silence,

Breathing in and out the air of the world and the thoughts of our busy mind.

This is where we should come

To kneel and bow to the West,

Where we should light the menorah candle,

Where we should burn the incense.

This is where we should embark our souls

On the quest we choose,

Where we should offer up

The sacrifice of ourselves.

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