Browncoats Unite!

Browncoats Unite!

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Weekend Ascetic:

Weekend Ascetic
by PMZ

When we sit down on a bed of moss
Beneath the spreading branches
Of a majestic, high-crowned oak
Covered in burls, the ground littered with acorns,
Squirrels chattering in the boughs high above our heads,
I often wonder if You care
Even when I know You are there

I first sensed You here many years gone
And I know that You sit beside me with your hand on my shoulder,
Waiting for me to ask you these questions,
Deep questions that garnish the pages
Of large leatherbound tomes,
Written in calligraphic, decorative script
With all the care the sages of the ages could muster.

I know that You are there, and that those who raised me are incorrect
In their assumption that houses of worship
Are the best place to meet You.

And I know
That every time I return
To the wilderness
Your hand will be upon me

And You will never leave
these

Sylvan Sanctuaries
Desert Dominions
Jungle Gymnasiums
Arctic Assemblies

For Your presence is not confined
To a building, nor is it captive
To our souls, that is to say
That You are not limited
By our imaginations
Nor by our collective consciousness
Nor by our need for companionship or fellowship.

And I thank You for these realizations.

So I will retrace my steps
Past the old pump house
Over the abandoned railroad track
Across the lock
Leaping from buttress to buttress
Hoping that one day I will understand You more

For by using Your creation for its intended purposes
I experience You.

Next week I will return
For another glimpse of Your face,
To gather the bounty of the woods,
To carve another spoon, and split
Some more wood for the fire
Upon which I will build a crane
And place the pot of water
To heat for the tea
Made from the bark of yet another plant,

To bake another tuber
In the coals,

To smoke some meat
Taken from a rabbit's body

All of which were put here by You, to be used by me, for Your Glory.

Thank you for this Suburban Wilderness
Which you have preserved for me
By means of the earthy wisdom
That you granted my forefathers
Old men with tanned, creased faces
Who wore smelly, sweat-soaked denim overalls
and long underwear all year long
Who bathed at least once a month
And who often roamed these woods, daring to ponder
The very same questions I just asked You.

Until Next Time,
PMZ

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