Becoming Holy

It happens in the wilderness.
When life is stripped of its color and vibrance.
When all is raw and there are no expectations.
Where either you die, or you become somehow stronger.
Less, but more true, more empty.
More able to pray, less between you and your GOd.

About this poem.

Often, we come to our faith when all is lost and we are at our lowest, in our personal wilderness. It is in those moments there is more of us to fill, and less resistance, less pretense. Or a poem about the literal wilderness. A poem about my past. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken at Kennebunkport, Maine.

Tom