If this is not a place where tears are understood, Then where shall I go to cry? And if this is not a place where my spirit can take wings, Then where shall I go to fly? I don't need another place for trying to impress you With just how good and virtuous I am. I don't need another place for always being on top of things; Everybody knows that it's a sham. I don't need another place for always wearing smiles, Even when it's not the way I feel. I don't need another place to mouth the same old platitudes; Everybody knows that it's not real. So if this is not a place where my questions can be asked, Then where shall I go to seek? And if this is not a place where my heart cry can be heard, Where, tell me where, shall I go to speak? So if this is not a place where tears are understood, Where shall I go, where shall I go to fly? -- Ken Medema
"I, who live by words, am wordless when I try my words in prayer. All language turns to silence. Prayer will take my words and then reveal their emptiness. . . in this strange patterend time of contemplation that, in time, breaks time, breaks words, breaks me, and then in silence, leaves me healed and mended."
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