Glastonbury

Glastonbury
 
 
I sought shelter from the
            rain; under the gallery
            that connects the chapels.
 
On rough, hewn stone, I prayed –
            there with fellow pilgrims,
            in the dark chamber
            with the whir of a summer storm
            all around us.
 
The alter had not changed
            for 900 years;
            sculpted out of pure stone
            with the image of the
            crucified Christ above it;
 
The image was worn into the rock
            barely an outline –
            so stunning, so beautiful --
            that I wept.

I wrote this poem on a pilgrimage to Glastonbury several years ago. There were so many beautiful, spiritual things I found in England. So many mysteries. It seemed like everywhere I walked, I was walking in the path of a saint or a poet. It was amazing to just walk through the arches of places like Glastonbury --- places that had called to people for centuries, had gathered the poets and the artists and the dreamers; all those people, who, like me, seek to find the spiritual in the everyday world.