Having descended into silence,
I face a wooden structure.
The Sanctuary breathes before me, so I enter with rain on my skin.
Completely empty
it welcomes the emptiness in me, called to prayer the easy prayer of
simple breathing.
This is how a church should be, the joining of warm wood together
making walls invisible, calling us to join in, not leave behind the life outside the door. A church vulnerable to fire and water,
a prayer vessel floating in the forest
Mesmerized by amber tree lines ringing around me, I knew courageous
prayers are said in places like this with wood, not stone listening.
I knew utter joy sweeps through places like these,
a shelter, not an escape. Unfettered by damp rock and twisted metal
hidden behind stained glass, lead lined but a living, breathing wild
church, for
wild prayers.
And though the air is still, a silent gale rows through this singing space.
This silent cathedral among the moss.
My skin thirsts again for rain, my soul
a falling acorn, a hazelnut floating.
Grant yourself refuge here, grasp these sacred seconds, and call your
soul your own.
Mícheál Moley Ó Súilleabháin
Finding My Birth Mother
