Remembering the Sacred

Don’t ever think for a second that this isn’t sacrosanct.

Your enlightened engagement is the source itself in operation.

The wearied woman who comes through these doors weighing the world in her heart,

the frightened maturing girl clasping a mother’s warm hand secretly in her woolen, winter layers, as

they wait in still silence;

as if holding tightly enough will restrain time’s indomitable succession.

 

When the director pulls off her glasses and rubs her eyes with the fleshy heel of her palms,

she pretends that it is not a tear appearing.

So many lines of legislation,  so much judgment.

Is there any understanding left in the world?

The survivor of 40 years  irate that her down on her luck daughter, miles away,  may lose

even more than she had to years ago on a cold metal table. 

As she dashes off a letter to a name in a distant capital she ponders – you represent me?

The father caught off guard by an unexpected question come too early.

Frantically charting the internet, determined to get right what no one did for him.

Do not let the shrill and strident clamoring of walled off and imprisoned compassion

dissuade you from your course.

No, do not forget for a moment the hands you’ve held, the minds you’ve touched, the bodies you’ve

healed, the hearts you’ve lifted. 

The benediction of your daily endeavors grace the world.

If good is to happen in this world it will only be through your compassion and kindness.

If peace is to reside in this land it will need rest in your hearts.

We belong to each other in unfathomable ways.

This would not be possible without you.

We are what we have been waiting for.

We need only remember it.