And God said:Let there be a place made of stoneOut off the west of the world,Roughed nine months by gale,Rattled in Atlantic swell.A place that rouses each EasterWith soft blessings of flowersAnd shocks of white shell sand;A place found only sometimesBy those who have lost their way.
I stopped caring whether or not someone remarked about my “particular style” of dress, as it was frequently called. What that meant was that I wasn’t wearing a black suit – dress or slacks – with a black clerical shirt.
But, you can be in a "thin place" and never have a "thin place" experience.
If you came this way,Taking any route, starting from anywhere,At any time or at any season,It would always be the same: you would have to put offSense and notion.You are not here to verify,Instruct yourself, or inform curiosityOr carry report. You are here to kneelWhere prayer has been valid.
Because of the thin place experiences I've had, I know that, no matter where I am, I am home.