The sacred mysteries of my life are not found in churches
Or in the holy books of churches
Not even ivory ivied towers of reasoned thought suffice
To hold my mysteries
My mysteries are not concrete objects to be pinned down like rare butterflies
Instead they are ineluctable treasures
Skies painted with sunset hues
A lover’s gaze
The synchronicity of coincidence
Soaring chords of scintillating majesty
Warm touches
Smiles in the face of adversity
Joy
Trust
Kindness
Love
These are the mysteries I hold sacred
And if I don’t understand them completely or at all
It doesn’t matter
They are complete without my inadequate analysis
Tarnishing the brassy sheen of their beauty
So I accept them with wonder and delight
David Trudel © 2013
