Quatrain #224 - If the body is the Temple of God
If the body is the Temple of God then the inner chamber is a pure loving heart;
the thoughts of the mind the steps to the altar, the fires of devotion are the art.
Our field of activity is the Temple grounds, how we relate to each other the fellowship;
living in tune with God is our communion, sacrificing our false nature the true worship.
poem by George Krokos
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Body Is A Temple
They say your body is a temple, and I found
This to be true, for in my temple I found you.
I felt your soul surround me like a mist
On a foggy day, and right then I knew
That in my heart forever you would stay.
My body is a temple and
You are the foundation
you control my heart
And every sensation.
Now this temple had become a temple of two
For it belonged to me and you.
We built this temple for all the world to see
That thru love this is the way it should be.
When you’ve shared the most precious
Moments that GOD did provide
When not on all topics did we see eye to eye
When in sickness you was the comforting stone
And you know that you’re not alone.
When that temple seems to be falling apart
And you‘ve lost all hope in your heart.
When it seems like you have no other place to go
And your thoughts are moving slow
That is when you turn to the lord above
To show you how to rekindle that love.
The body is a temple and in it I found you
And with your strength I know what I have to do.
I will rebuild this temple with the love of my life
For you are my partner, my lover, my wife.
poem by Louis Rams
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Amoretti XXII: This Holy Season
This holy season, fit to fast and pray,
Men to devotion ought to be inclin'd:
Therefore I likewise on so holy day,
For my sweet saint some service fit will find.
Her temple fair is built within my mind,
In which her glorious image placed is,
On which my thoughts do day and night attend,
Like sacred priests that never think amiss.
There I to her as th' author of my bliss,
Will build an altar to appease her ire:
And on the same my heart will sacrifice,
Burning in flames of pure and chaste desire:
The which vouchsafe, O goddess, to accept,
Amongst thy dearest relics to be kept.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Licia Sonnets 01
Bright matchless star, the honour of the sky,
From whose clear shine heaven's vault hath all his light,
I send these poems to your graceful eye;
Do you but take them, and they have their right.
I build besides a temple to your name,
Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise;
And will erect an altar for the same,
Which shall your virtues and your honour raise.
But heaven the temple of your honour is,
Whose brasen tops your worthy self made proud;
The ground an altar, base for such a bliss
With pity torn, because I sighed so loud.
And since my skill no worship can impart,
Make you an incense of my loving heart.
Sad, all alone, not long I musing sat,
But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire;
A laurel garland in my hand I gat,
So the Muses I approached the nigher.
My suit was this, a poet to become,
To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed.
Phoebus denied, and sware there was no room,
Such to be poets as fond fancy led.
With that I mourned and sat me down to weep;
Venus she smiled, and smiling to me said,
Come drink with me, and sit thee still, and sleep.
This voice I heard; and Venus I obeyed.
That poison sweet hath done me all this wrong,
For now of love must needs be all my song.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Evcharistos! and not only...
here is the world of not only:
lifting its face, lifting its hands,
beyond not, beyond only, to
not only, but.. to That!
not only for some, but for all.
Be sitting in your chair, or
kneeling before an altar or a statue, or
touching head to ground, or
cross-legged, the sitar and the vina
quietening to silence, the incense
filling the lungs and heart;
or walking through the forest, in the hills; seeing,
not only this, or this, but… that…
Eucharist, Communion, Advaita –
Thanksgiving, coming together as one,
‘not two’… do all these mean the same,
mean, not only?
not only you, but all of us;
not only worshipping, or working;
not only body or spirit;
not only earth or heaven;
but there, where work is worship; worship, work;
where activity is rest;
where Body is Spirit; Spirit, Body;
earth is heaven, and heaven’s on earth;
where sound and silence meet;
where stillness meets activity;
where body and spirit know each other;
take, if you wish, this sip of wine, this crumb of bread,
this handful of water, this flower,
in the memory of centuries and millions,
lifting, too, their faces and their hands;
looking beyond not only, finding, that;
or put your hands together,
as all things come together;
say the word, a word,
give a name to it, to That;
or listen to the sound beyond all names;
the sound that’s in the silence;
the life that’s in the stillness;
or stay with eucharist, communion, advaita, jihad,
sacrifice, surrender, prayer, praise;
they are your guardians and your friends,
smiling as they run toward you, greeting;
calling out to you,
not only… but…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Today... 'The Cornerstone
Rejected of men for being too good
we crucified you on a cross of wood
But Your Father had other plans for You
for the temple was to be built anew
A building not made of rock or of stone
but one made up of Christians alone
Built of people saved by the grace of God
the Cornerstone is Jesus Christ the Lord
A great temple not built by human skill
but made up of those who follow God's will
The living temple of Your body Lord
because its' builder and maker is God
To build it the old temple had to go
through death so that You could raise it up so.
This is marvellous in our sight O Lord
One in Christ we are the temple of God.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
The Poor Mind
The poor mind becomes a temple
Based on the noble and virtuous
Thoughts it possesses.
The poor mind becomes a trash can
Based on the ignoble and noxious
Thoughts it contains.
The lowly always dwell
On sinister thoughts vicious
And on loathsome thoughts injurious.
If these deleterious thoughts
Of malevolence and trash are erased
The poor mind becomes highly raised
And it becomes a temple.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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“Lucky Larry” (A Tale of Lost Love)
It was 'High Mesa' country,
A place between two worlds,
Once explored by Hernan Cortes,
During his quest for fame & fortune;
Larry stumbled onto a hidden temple,
He entered...
Deep within stood an altar of stone,
An eerie glow filled the chamber,
Atop the altar two orbs hovered,
Reaching for the one nearest,
Eager hands encircled a golden orb,
He filled at once with feelings of love
A vision flashed through his mind;
Two young lovers stood before him,
But he saw only the beautiful maiden,
Auburn hair, bottomless brown eyes,
A smile that made Angels’ blush,
Pulling the orb close to his chest,
It happened…
As if a fine mist, the orb disappeared within him,
Ignoring the second orb he ran from the temple,
He must have the body of this precious soul,
For God had smiled this day on “Lucky Larry”
Within a short time he found, wooed & they wed
Larry knew not, he’d broken a sacred bond;
Abandoned forever…the second soul,
Left to wander aimlessly, sad & lonely,
His only comfort…
Was knowing that when his body released him,
Twin-souls would reunite once again,
In a place between two worlds.
poem by Ray Lucero
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In My Soul
In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
where I kneel.
Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.
Is there not a region of love where the sovereignty is
illumined nothing,
where ecstasy gets poured into itself
and becomes
lost,
where the wing is fully alive
but has no mind or
body?
In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque,
a church
that dissolve, that
dissolve in
God.
poem by Rabia al Basri
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Temples
Earth-bound providence man discovered
To make Him descend
From His invincible farther Temple
His own dwelling is a Temple
If only man desires to be
Remembering
In secret chamber of his soul
Templed is Himself
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Sonnet: My ‘Temple’ On Earth
The pillars of my strength are three for now!
Thou art the rock on which my temple stands!
To all Thy tenets, humbly do I bow;
The construction will be with my own hands.
Let prayers make my mind draw plans with ease;
Let grace of God reinforce every brick;
Let God’s mercy help me construct in peace;
Let fear of God make my heart never sick.
The temple is my family on earth!
Outlive it must, the fury of devils;
O God, Thy blessings must not be a dearth;
Let impervious be temple to evils!
When temple’s made, thine humble servant, I
Whole-heartedly wish to Thee glorify.
poem by John Celes
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How Shall I Build
How shall I build my temple to the Lord,
Unworthy I, who am thus foul of heart?
How shall I worship who no traitor word
Know but of love to play a suppliant's part?
How shall I pray, whose soul is as a mart,
For thoughts unclean, whose tongue is as a sword
Even for those it loves to wound and smart?
Behold how little I can help Thee, Lord.
The Temple I would build should be all white,
Each stone the record of a blameless day;
The souls that entered there should walk in light,
Clothed in high chastity and wisely gay.
Lord, here is darkness. Yet this heart unwise,
Bruised in Thy service, take in sacrifice.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Guru, Where Is Guru?
I am neither a Guru,
Nor I can be that,
The guru is within,
Sure to guide all! I am a teacher,
teaching material science for living,
Not like to watch a show,
not even to make a show,
Pen Only feelings of conscience that overflow!
No matter, I tell,
Not even nickel I need,
If want to beg,
I will beg with Him,
Washing with tears,
the steps of
temple of my heart!
Namaste To all,
The Guru is within,
Guru is around us, Namaste To all
Because He is in all!
Sadguru is One,
mere his Touch
or sight,
Can stop Fight in
Mind,
So does Even the Grass,
his feet touched,
is full with self knowledge!
such is power of Sadguru, Hence entire world is full of
knowledge
As almighty God and loving nature are Sadgurus!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Human Temple
The Temple in Darkness
Darkness broods upon the temple,
Glooms along the lonely aisles,
Fills up all the orient window,
Whence, like little children’s wiles,
Shadows—purple, azure, golden—
Broke upon the floor in smiles.
From the great heart of the organ
Bursts no voice of chant or psalm;
All the air, by music-pulses
Stirred no more, is deathly calm;
And no precious incense rising,
Falls, like good men’s prayer, in balm.
Not a sound of living footstep
Echoes on the marble floor;
Not a sigh of stranger passing
Pierces through the closèd door;
Quenched the light upon the altar:
Where the priest stood, none stands more.
Lord, why hast Thou left Thy temple
Scorned of man, disowned by Thee!
Rather let Thy right hand crush it,
None its desolation see!
List—‘He who the temple builded
Doth His will there. Let it be!’
A Light in the Temple
Lo, a light within the temple!
Whence it cometh no man knows;
Barred the doors: the night-black windows
Stand apart in solemn rows,
All without seems gloom eternal,
Yet the glimmer comes and goes—
As if silent-footed angels
Through the dim aisles wandered fair,
Only traced amid the darkness,
By the glory in their hair,
Till at the forsaken altar
They all met, and praised God there.
Now the light grows—fuller, clearer;
Hark, the organ ’gins to sound.
Faint, like broken spirit crying
Unto Heaven from the ground;
While the chorus of the angels
Mingles everywhere around.
See, the altar shines all radiant,
Though no mortal priest there stands,
And no earthly congregation
Worships with uplifted hands:
Yet they gather, slow and saintly,
In innumerable bands.
And the chant celestial rises
Where the human prayers have ceased:
No tear-sacrifice is offered,
For all anguish is appeased,
Through its night of desolation,
To His temple comes the Priest.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Sonnet XXII
THis holy season fit to fast and pray,
Men to deuotion ought to be inclynd:
therefore, I lykewise on so holy day,
for my sweet Saynt some seruice fit will find.
Her temple fayre is built within my mind,
in which her glorious ymage placed is,
on which my thoughts doo day and night attend
lyke sacred priests that neuer thinke amisse.
There I to her as th'author of my blisse,
will builde an altar to appease her yre:
and on the same my hart will sacrifise,
burning in flames of pure and chast desyre:
The which vouchsafe O goddesse to accept,
amongst thy deerest relicks to be kept.
poem by Edmund Spenser
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Candlelight
So many bees, who know so much
that only bees can tell,
gave their life’s devotion
to this single source of light;
silent whisper for your attention
to what it has to tell your sight,
before its substance burns, returns
into the upper air…
gently burns on altar, or scented in the bathroom’s grace;
or here in front of you, gentle hypnotist
for the wandering mind;
to which it has so much to tell..
tells of humility; gently burning
in a stable, before a birth;
tells of loving-kindness; gives itself,
yet asks for nothing but to be itself;
tells of worship: worship, first, of what the bees are;
and here in this honey-coloured form
is their own worship;
waxing silent in murmured devotion;
warming miraculously, into liquid wax;
only love can be so liquid;
only love can reach so far;
liquid, warmed into this present light:
the candle’s flame you know so well
yet cannot shape or hold;
already, candle hints to you
that there is that beyond all sense:
for round its light, air’s gently warmed:
drawing the flame itself into the invisible above
like the soul that’s yearning for its homeland;
and beyond, within, that air you cannot see
unless it moves some other thing,
it lights the space – space which is not
bathroom, altar; but all space;
candle tells you of all that;
draws the mind with steady, silent truth
to all creation in a single flame;
flame that asks for naught of you
but your attention; which it will reward
by telling you in stillness,
what you worship in yourself;
the light of self, that shines before all men
and glorifies its maker
like a gentle flame that cannot be put out.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Doesn't Nature?
Doesn't nature draw your eyes ever towards her?
Don't you feel beyond your body is mind there?
A mind with innocence, which may be God's abode!
There are a few men, who get the blessing of god!
Lust is on the way to pure love a inviolable bar
Nature looks after us as dear mother and father.
Borrow the patience, the stillness, purity from her,
and worship the soul, not this physique ever.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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The Temple will not be completed until every living stone is there. And then what? The next thing will be that which our Masonic friends make so much of, and which we make so much of namely: the glorification of the temple.
quote by Charles T. Russell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Saturday Myth
My daily routine is
To offer morning prayers
In a temple
Run and maintained by a
Board of Trustees
That Saturday I went
With all devotion and enthusiasm
But only to see a display
That the temple will be non-functional
As mother of one trustees
Passed away and temple will be open
For public only after the obituary rites are over
It struck me then
There is a myth in this part of the country
That Saturday obituary noting
Does not go single
Some such reporting will also be soon heard
Returned home with disappointment
And telling myself that
Someone else too is dead somewhere
By the time I reached home
I received a call
Informing me the demise of
A first cousin of mine
Who is younger to me
Myth or message?
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Temple of Artemus
Callimachus wrote:
'Let none disparage Artemis. For Oeneus
dishonoured her altar and no pleasant struggles came upon his city. Nor let any content with her in shooting of stags or in archery. For the son of Atreus vaunted him not that he suffered small requital. Neither let any woo the Maiden; for not Otus, nor Orion wooed her to their own good. Nor let any shun the yearly dance; for not tearless to Hippo
was her refusal to dance around the altar. Hail, great queen, and graciously greet my song.'
So the Great Temple was for the Amazons, who mated with their neighbors
Every 26 years.
The Temple outlasted that,
But not by much:
It was both wooed and raped
By the Earth Herself,
The first Amazon of all.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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My body is the temple of His love
(after Hafiz)
My body is the temple of His love,
my heart, my mind even though my own
is the sanctuary that must become holy for Him,
my life is dedicated to my Lord
and everything that I have known
while I have been adventuring,
though at times it darkens my being,
my life with sin,
His spirit dwells within
and in Him I am clean.
His life is pure like the Lily
growing in the swamp,
is bright with pure light
like the sun that overcomes the darkest night
and in Him my shattered pieces are whole,
He is the essence of my soul.
[Reference: ”My soul is the veil of his love” by Hafiz.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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