Wealth, bliss, even God
elude our grasping
while we scurry and scamper
as dim dreams retreat.
What if we are not
the steadfast hunters
but the harried prey?

In a world spinning
relentless chaos
to cloak its soul-sick course,
heart-healing is found
in naked baring
before Spirit,
in quest of who I am
in this time and place.
Listen – stillness speaks:
of comrades laughing,
bearing each other,
praying, walking in
easing the frantic
pace, that authentic
Self might overtake.

Sabbath, sacred pause,
turn to Mystery,
restore and renew.
Arrest the headlong dash
for riches and quick fixes.
Slow us that true blessings
may catch us, ensnare us.
Soft kiss of love’s lips,
toes dig summer sand,
silence of a bird’s chirp:
Holy gifts that can’t
run as fast as we.
Slow us, turn us, to
find what’s left behind.

©2017 Kenneth W. Arthur