Here in the garden at the break of day, <br />the air’s been washed with holy water overnight, <br />and it’s so peaceful, as if nature at this hour <br />replays Creation’s dawn; takes a heartfelt pause <br />before it launches, first itself, then us, <br />into the business of the day and, so it seems, <br />to lose ourselves somewhere inside ourselves. <br /> <br />Sitting here, I meditate upon the silence and the stillness <br />at this thought-free hour of dawn; as if I and nature both <br />share that sweet mystery that movement, action, <br />arise from stillness, remain behind it all the day… <br /> <br />To measure out the use of this fine world – <br />to live, neither too little nor too much; <br />to be both actor and the watcher of all this, <br />sitting in delight at one’s own play… <br /> <br />And in the kitchen of the spirit, <br />where rolling-pins and herbs live lives of metaphor, <br />weigh out with balance, measure in the jug of life <br />the usage of this world; <br />in these scales, balance gold; <br />the gold that's earned, the gold that's given out; <br />from this jug, pours pure joy. <br /> <br />This evening, bruised and battered by the day <br />that I allowed to, worldly, use me thus, <br />I shall return to this same garden seat <br />showered and refreshed <br />by spirit’s bathing - mercy, grace – <br />to find again that peace which never left <br />this seat of love<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0046-the-measured-life/
