I don’t know who was doing the witnessing –
the lavender plant, or me.
I only know that its divine presence shone forth,
that in its presence I moved closer
to an experience of the sacred.
So, rather than passing it by, I stopped.
I stopped and spoke to it.
Not an audible speech, but a soundless one.
The cathedral whisper one uses
when one recognizes divinity.
I danced with the lavender too,
but not the dance of the body, no,
the motionless dance of the witness,
of awareness at rest in itself,