Blessed is this ground on which we stand. Holy is this place.
Holy are the places of memory,
the places which have formed us,
where we store the icons of success and shattered dreams
and gather threads and pieces of what we would become. . .
Holy are the places of memory.
Holy are the places of the dream,
the places over the rainbow,
where all children are wanted and all people are fed,
where colors are the source of celebration
and youth and age come to the table as one. . .
Holy are the places of the dream.
Holy are the places of change and pain,
the places of our struggle,
where the rivers of our lives run white and fast,
and we hold on, hold on and grow. . .
Holy are the places of change and pain.
Holy are the places of connection,
the places where we risk our selves,
where hands touch hands, touch souls, touch minds,
and in awareness still, we change our lives. . .
Holy are the places of connection.
Holy are the places of becoming,
the places of clear vision,
where life and world are intertwined
and we can see forever in this moment
and give thanks. . .
Holy are the places of becoming.
Blessed is the ground on which we stand. Holy — and whole-making— is this place.