This beautiful poem reminded me of the Alfred North Whitehead that the past and future always meet in the sacred, holy ground of the present. We cannot be any other place except in our thoughts which create a fantastic future and idealized past.
Step outside the garden door,
with bare feet on cold concrete,
and after the realisation that it’s not so bad,
you can bear it,
move on to the dew wet morning grass,
to the uncut patch,
where the secret life within grounds you
to the heart of your heart,
to the world heart,
to the one sacred whole where you know yourself in everything,
where everything has it’s peace,
and even inanimate objects
find their rest in the sacred.
ivonprefontaine
Teacher as Transformer 