Lindisfarne
This Holy
Isle
This
Lindisfarne.
Found
lingering
Floating.
Unselfconsciously
On the
north-east edge;
Of past life
In present
tense.
This ‘thin’
place
Etches
ancient rhythms
Stretched
horizons
Inner
visions.
And from
raging stillness
Birthed in
elemental struggle;
walk -
silent - talk
(over beach,
bog, snook and stile)
To
Cuthbert’s Isle.
And rest
awhile
Secluded,
occluded
In self -
test - trial.
This thin
place's stature
Grows and
shrinks with moon drawn water.
Revealing –
concealing
Life's new
born sons and daughters.
And daily
surfaced debris
Rising,
falling
ebbs and
flows.
Tide between
tides
Like sand
between toes.
And shapes,
creates
With
tectonic hot/cold forces.
Exfoliating
the heart
Till Spirit
re-endorses.
And on
morning watch
Birds
landing to feed.
Like
genuflecting Bishops
Singing
matins,
Drinking
mead.
Backed by
dawn symphonic vistas
Repeating
verse plus chorus chorus
By out of
tune seals
Barking
“life - victorious!”
On this
‘thin’ Holy Isle
A mains
connecting cord hides.
Revealed
twice daily
A cause-way
surprise.
Of
umbilical-like nourishment
Reversed in
its flow.
And slowly
it shows...
A “Pilgrim
Way”:
Less trod
now by holy novice’d feet.
Wayfaring
travellers
God’s “Open
Gate” pray’d meet.
And discover
there
On expanding
margins
The ‘thin’
way home.
With sand
poles spaced
As guiding
lines to hand.
Marking
life’s journey on
From this
most Holy of lands.
© Martin
Thomas (March 2009)
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