The Spirit House

spiritual poetry magazine

Poem

 

The carpenter laid his hammer down
he felt the quiet
as a sweet kiss

a creaking
the ghost was nigh

if he listened
she would speak to him
and he would see things clearly

If only he could speak to her
he persevered

In his hand he held a nail
“Oh, how we hold things together”, he thought
and he felt for a moment, the strength he held in his hands

He stood up
the foundation he had laid
held him upright

And the thought occurred,
“I am this house”

The ghost was watching
as a lover does
with a sense of presence
laid bare from exhaustion

Why this house?
Am I not dead? she thought.

But he persevered,
nail after nail

“I am this house,
I feel it in my being”

“I do not live”, she thought
“I do not live
I am not this house!”

What am I?

He could not see her, but he knew

He whispered, “You are the void that fills my heart.
And my heart is your home.”

She asked, is it I that haunts you, or do you haunt me?
He replied, “Always I am with you, when I am with me.”

“I build this house
so that you may at last
be still
and truly be.”

 

more by JULIE MAYA PANDA

photograph by Aurélien Bellanger

 

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Julie Maya Panda

Julie Maya Panda is a Mystic Poet & Spiritual Hynotherapist living in San Francisco, CA.

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