My home

This is my holy place,

This is my holy face

And if I am a divine being

Having a human experience

Then I must devote equal time to the sublime and to the mundane

My holy hands

Are capable of kindness

My holy voice

Can cut through sadness

I must bestow the gift of silence

On my chaotic madness.

In this holy place

Where there is no balcony, No view, no grass to lie on

I bow down to the perfection of everything

To the holy journey and ask for grace to

Extract the joy and wisdom from it all.