Someone said

our bodies are like reeds;

we must let the breath

of the divine blow through us

become like piccolos and flutes;

make a living music.


I feel the sharpness

of morning air,

listen to the sky soughing,

notice how leaves

on the tree tremble.

~~ Denise Bennett, Quaker Monthly, Oct 2008 ~~


At half past ten the talking stops;

Slowly we settle down.

Hard seats, few are cushioned,

an hour is a long time.

Only our breathing

and the ticking of the friendly clock

disturb the silence.

Sitting in a circle, the others close,

I am aware of their presence

as they are of mine.

Reaching inward to their utmost being,

Seeking the spirit, seeking

the Inner Light.

Or wondering what to get for dinner.

I look at the polished table, the scent of old wood.

Someone has brought a cyclamen

in a pot.

In it`s bright reflections

A flame burns, but still I`m no closer

to the thing I seek…………….

~~ Amyon Corbold-Taylor & David Stuart, Quaker Monthly, Aug 2008 ~~

Reflections on being a Quaker.



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