Entrance

We have all known, now and then,

that the place is always there, waiting,

ours for the asking,

for the silent stepping out of ourselves

into solace and renewal.

We do not even need a gate,

though it can be pleasantly awesome,

a ritual of entrance.

Some walk straight in,

through the invisible wall of wonder.

Some scramble through a hedge of thorns,

thankful for the pain, the bright drops of blood.

Some enter over the token length of wall;

they like the solid scrape of stone,

the breathless act of climbing.

Once we are in, no matter how,

the secret terrain goes on forever.

When we forget it is there,

then it is gone,

and we are left outside

until we remember.