A welcoming home wide open,
soothed by breezes breathing free.
Shaded with trees
grown wise through the ages.
Illumined with love learned and taught.
Founded on solid rock,
grounded by thought.
All paths lead to this peaceful place,
a destination of refuge, salvation, and grace.
Warmed by the hearth, abundant bread.
No one denied entry, no one arrives late.
Gently we are guided
through the garden gate.
Here the truths we held so tightly
loosen in the hand like bread gone warm.
No need to act. No need to answer.
The eyes go quiet. They see the room as it is.
Each heartbeat sets another fear down
the way you’d set down something heavy at the door.
From God’s essence we emerge
and in that essence we remain,
the breath going deep,
the old hungers cooling to embers,
and a kiss that asks for nothing seals the trust.
The floor beneath us drops.
Our feet they hang.
We look up —
the roof is gone.
The roof is gone.
We are directly connected
to the Divine.
And the Holy Sound comes in through the opening,
the way rain finds the field.
Each time we still ourselves and listen,
some weight we carried lifts and goes,
and we carve for ourselves a finer fate.
The earth turns on forgiveness.
Axis secure.
In this one moment, paradise flares,
brief and complete as a struck match,
and everything we ask is already in our hands.
There is no only-me.
There is no other.
What flows through one of us
flows home through another,
and the same source runs in all of us
the way one river wears a hundred names.
We receive all that we give.
We taste exactly what our love allows.
And the mind, when it is quiet, makes its quiet magic:
the grudge dissolved, the old ache eased,
the tears that blurred the morning wiped to clear.
Whatever we turn toward grows toward us,
the love we make, the regret we water.
That is the whole of it. No secret. No lock.
Like the breath, it returns. Like the tide, it returns.
The chime struck once and ringing,
ringing on past where the ear can follow,
and this is how we keep our time:
by the warm recurrence, the coming-round-again.
So we arrive, at last, where we started.
All things possible. The golden grain
greening up again through the turned dark earth.
We come to find
our family home was resting inside us
all along,
and we love now the way the home stands open,
never lost, and forever free.
Rob Chavez 2015
Composed 2015 • restored 2026
© 2026 Rob Chavez. All Rights Reserved.