heartland

you slipped into my second dream

as if someone known for a log time

a muse born of ecstasy

suddenly needing to reappear

to talk to, listen to

walk with from room to room

bespeckled and pleasant-faced

slow-paced, observant

we moved about the eerie space

conversing in the heartland of grace

shifting to where'er it brought us:

a mud bank, a school, a broken home

until the time arrived to break the mood

and i awoke wanting you again

to traipse as far as a dream would take us

*Believers who are mystics have always been a lowly race, repressed for a long time.  Such confidence, and obedience not necessarily passive, is the path of a very difficult race of people who are in touch with the absolute.  They are usually people of silence, without necessarily being quiet.  They show a certain healthiness, a disinterest in religion and doctrinal abstractions that will save them.  They start off in the right direction.  It seems to be enough for them to believe without too many illusions in the spiritual experience of their Church.  Although they've never had an illumination, a loving faith is at the center of their life.

-Jean Sulivan