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Dream
Strange that dream images,
Hidden within the mind,
Should carry more impact
Than the most conscious kind.
The sight of a tall tree,
Etched on the green and grey
Of grass and clouds, changes
Each moment of the day.
And every bright image,
Like moonlight persuasive
And desperately clear,
At last is elusive.
Because the joy dies, we
Doubt the significance.
Only meaning can grant
A blessed permanence.
I know from my dreams that
Inside me is a space,
Perhaps a cathedral,
Or more often a place
Of ancient standing stones,
Open to the wide sky,
With the far horizon
Its distant boundary.
And this space is sacred,
In some way set apart
For celebration
Of the goods in my heart.
Just what kind of worship
Is practised in this place,
What ceremony used
And with hope of what grace,
I may never know. Sure
Of its nightly presence
Within, I can only
Accept its existence.
Sharper in my mind
Than any sound or sight,
More real to me than
A tree, or the moonlight.
Father Patrick Radley
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