0046 The Measured Life Poem by Michael Shepherd

Here in the garden at the break of day,
the air’s been washed with holy water overnight,
and it’s so peaceful, as if nature at this hour
replays Creation’s dawn; takes a heartfelt pause
before it launches, first itself, then us,
into the business of the day and, so it seems,
to lose ourselves somewhere inside ourselves.

Sitting here, I meditate upon the silence and the stillness
at this thought-free hour of dawn; as if I and nature both
share that sweet mystery that movement, action,
arise from stillness, remain behind it all the day…

To measure out the use of this fine world –
to live, neither too little nor too much;
to be both actor and the watcher of all this,
sitting in delight at one’s own play…

And in the kitchen of the spirit,
where rolling-pins and herbs live lives of metaphor,
weigh out with balance, measure in the jug of life
the usage of this world;
in these scales, balance gold;
the gold that's earned, the gold that's given out;
from this jug, pours pure joy.

This evening, bruised and battered by the day
that I allowed to, worldly, use me thus,
I shall return to this same garden seat
showered and refreshed
by spirit’s bathing - mercy, grace –
to find again that peace which never left
this seat of love