Visiting the Invisible Shrine
A poem for the inner pilgrimage
As these summer days shorten
and our weekend travels cease,
still I rise early, now before the sun.
On a pilgrimage, I embark,
not trekking across vast distances
nor relying on my footsteps to bring me.
I pack no bags.
I carry no food.
Everything I need, I know, I will receive.
In the quiet corner, I sit.
Ready. Open. I draw near to my destination.
Arriving, I
Touch the sacred stone.
Dance at the fire’s edge.
Bathe in the holy river.
The Eternal greets me,
nourishes me,
heals me.
Now, opening my eyes,
I return home from the invisible shrine,
carrying light.
This hill, though high, I covet to ascend;
The difficulty will not me offend;
For I perceive the way of life lies here.
Come, pluck up, heart; let's neither faint nor fear.—John Bunyan, Pilgrim's Progress
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