Sacred Ground

There are times when the breeze rushes into the cracks
and the divine pulses beside me, rejoicing.
When I know I am standing on my unique holy ground
the path shining clear ahead of me.

I was on a retreat, receding into the past now
but it seeped into my blood and bones.
The large golden tree, solid and breathing
and time and death slipped, a soft cloth falling.

Today I am in this colourful tent of creation.
My fizzing boy is flying, free outside,
being embraced by his own,
and I hear the words I need to hear.

The divine shines warm around me,
and there is no doubting the truth or realness of it,
the enveloping, dancing miracle of it.