Thin Places Poem by Steve Wheeler

I go there sometimes
when my energy is low; to
the thin places of the earth
where two worlds may collide;
where the ethereal
and the material
may tenderly kiss and coincide,
and where a coalescence
of spirit and body may be sealed.
I visit the thin places
to steal a glimpse behind
the veil that separates what is concealed,
inside some other realm,
to breathe the other-worldly air
and warmly bask in celestial waves
of purest realisation.

There are no maps to indicate
these hallowed haunts.
No compass can reveal the
thinnest places of the earth.
Yet some are marked by gaunt
ruins and the silent sacred sites,
an empty tomb, a wooded hollow hide,
a wayside shrine or stone
circles, the standing monoliths;
while others simply bide
their time to wait for you.
You must seek to find them
for yourself, employing senses
above and beyond your mortal gifts.

Sometimes, they will find you,
appearing just outside
your peripheral vision, tantalising
just beyond your physical reach.
The veil that separates the worlds
will shift and flutter, and may
occasionally draw apart
to reveal that infinitesimal breach.

It will be enough, and then you will know.
A thrill of awe and wonderment will
flicker on the viscera of your soul
as in an eye-blink you realise you are
standing on that hallowed soil.
The place where saints have trod, and
where holy visitations have been seen,
astride the aeons of that ancient coil.

You may sense the purest of
connections to that
magical elsewhere realm
that sacred power refines and
infinite glory graces.
You can lose yourself
and find your soul
in the thin places.


© Steve Wheeler 2020