The Expanding Light Poem by Chris Campbell

The crunch of gravel
Turns to a gossip’s whisper
As I veer off the well worn path
And head down the bank to Lotus pond.
Each step is made - cautiously -
Lest I slip on the hissing pine needles at my feet
And tumble down the bank into Lotus pond.

They said this was a sacred place.
A place to find the Silence,
To find direction and reconnection
To the Source.

But the January wind burns my ears as it roars,
Urging me back to my cozy room.
(Even in this silence there is deafening sound)
And look - the lotus blossoms are gone!
Just gray green leaves on a muddy surface.
Still, the toads (ignorant of the beauty undelivered)
Croak happily in their hollows,
And the dirty pond water ripples
Where invisible carp pick at niggling fears
Growing fat on doubt and disbelief.

Sacred – I don’t like that word.
What makes this rock more sacred than that one?
This person sainted, that one defiled?
This temple holy and that room - a tomb?

Perhaps, dear one, sacred is not found in the object at hand
But in the open heart of the observer.

Silenced and humbled,
My bankrupt tears join the ripples as
The croaking choir sings the praises
Of an interior landscape.
I look up.
An arrowhead of Wild Geese
Float northward across the sky
Honking as they pass.

Can you hear me now? God asks.