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Drinking the River, Touching the Mist

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Drinking the River, Touching the Mist

I turn my face towards the descending mist. I feel its softness on my skin. Barely visible--both gossamer and fleeting--it hovers between the downcast sky and pungent earthy realms. Its delicate power transforms the forest into Chambers of Joy, humming with life process, inspiring and humbling me.

Oh Cathedral of Grace, full of scent and motion, press the moisture of life gently to my cheeks as it anoints the oaks, pines and hemlocks with sweetness, making them supple and new, coaxing shimmering manes of fresh growth.

I am intimate with the river. Fervently I soak in the reverberating tides, those mysteries translucent but steady. Eddies of lace, pathways of stone, forge ahead in your yin-yang dance of ages.

I walk enchanted through verdant halls, wanting for nothing. I am as complete as the damp patch of earth under my feet, swelling with emerging life.

The Sacred Grounds rise to my consciousness as the Perfection of the Universe.

Image and text c 2010 Lynda Lehmann.