The following little piece from 1971 has stuck in my mind ever since. It is a kind of sonnet, as well as a kind of introduction as to how I approached spiritual matters in those days:
Mystery. And warm desire.
Tending to the sacred fire
Frees a young girl’s sacred urges
Religion. And the sacred stone
Thinking she finds herself alone
Saving, of course, the thaumaturges
Who, like holy men everywhere,
Have no urge to stop and stare.
Shivers, and a melting feeling
Emerging from the cloth concealing,
Her body shines with holy light.
Smiling. And all fear suppressing,
She rises to receive her blessing,
Secure in knowing it is right.