Scholar of the Senses

For all the great thoughts I have read

For all the deep books I have studied

None has brought me nearer to Spirit

Than a walk beneath shimmering leaves.

—

Golden red with the fire of autumn

When the air is crisp

And the sun a pale eye, watching.

—

I am as scholar of the senses

A theologian of the tangible.

—

Spirit touches me and I touch Spirit

Each time I lift a leaf from my path

A thin flake of fire golden red

Still warm from the breath that made it.

— By Steven Charleston, chosen and read by Amy W.

I walked into the children’s garden today and as I looked around through my own childlike eyes, I experienced a powerful sense of being held.  Embraced.  By the fading blooms and only-autumn hues. By the joy on the faces of sculptures. By the live oak limbs creating a hush underneath their enormous wings.  I stopped a while, felt it fully, invited myself to remember how I belonged to all this, knew this space inside myself too.

— Photos and reflection by Amy W.

Spirit touches me and I touch Spirit... I was drawn today to walk and linger silently under the canopy of several grand oak trees adorned with Spanish moss and withering leaves. Breathing in the majesty and wonder of these trees was as spiritual as being in one of Europe’s great cathedrals.

— Photos and reflection by Nancy L.