Temple

Taking off her roller skates,

The nine-year-old entered the small empty church in silence.

 She was a trespasser,

Overwhelmed by fear, drawn forth by fascination.

The candles glowed in the darkness, bidding her welcome.
The faces of the graven images invited her close.

She trespassed.

Yet it was her beliefs that were encroached upon.
Could the awe she felt truly be idolatry?

Could reverence for this sweet mother truly be evil?

This thought deepened the fear, filling her with apprehension.
She fled, retreating to the safety of familiar dogma.

Grown up, she learned to love

The upward rush of reverence, entering a cathedral.

The cordial hospitality of lavish imagery,

Warm brilliance of stained glass,

Fragrance of incense, all embraced her, body and spirit.
No longer held back by austere belief, no longer a trespasser.

  Still there was more to the story.

  In her older years,

 She loved even more the simple sweetness of the sweat lodge,

 Cool of earth beneath her, slap of steam upon her face,

 Back in the womb of Mother Earth,
Trespass now impossible.

This was a way to recount my spiritual development, from the fundamentalism of my youth  that taught me to fear Roman Catholicism especially, to appreciation of all Christian paths, to appreciation for the indiginous spirituality of America. The spiral outward to an ever larger context continues.

Chapter 10 of Passage, which begins with this poem, tells about the vision quest with which I celebrated my 60th birthday. That was two years before lymphoma appeared, but I included it as context for the spiritual practices that helped me cope with cancer.