![](\"\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/03\/_d_improd_\/brentor1_f_improf_443x294.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Set hard atop the tor, this holy place, for those
\nwho worship Christ. Holy to my mind too,
\nmy consecrated history. One of the constants I crave,
\na toehold of the heart. A place in my being.<\/p>\n
Do I Worship? After a fashion, yes. But silent,
\ndisconnected, held rooted. For some it is a land lost.
\nI cling to these places, the mind\u2019s hand grips the edge.
\nNot for reassurance, but for reflection,
\nconnection, alive here in my past.<\/p>\n
Here the wallstone, mottled with lichen,
\nholds an old tale. Oak door riveted with
\nancient iron, bulwarks. Coloured glass,
\nyellow light on wooden pews, shiny with age.<\/p>\n
Rest and comfort me. Recreate a memory,
\nin this place, of self, past moments.
\nTimes of joy and youth.
\nSanctuary if you like, shelter certainly.<\/p>\n
I need this, I need to return. The weather outside
\nis cold, harsh, as it should be. To pray
\nwould be facetious, mocking. Sit quiet, alone, absorb
\nand absorbed, the still air, resonates with meaning.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Set hard atop the tor, this holy place, for those who worship Christ. Holy to my mind too, my consecrated history. One of the constants I crave, a toehold of the heart. A place in my being. Do I Worship? … Continue reading