It is a ‘thin’ place
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.

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