[Editor's Intro: Our usual host for Sacred Sundays, Chela Davison, is busy working on her final projects for the Integral Coaching Canada program, so we have a recent poem by the Reverend Bruce Sanguin to offer in her absence. You can read more of Bruce's work at his new blog/website If Darwin Prayed. Blessings, enjoy. -Trevor]
Five Dancers and a Football Player - Bruce Sanguin 
Dusk touches
five dancers from Montreal
on a city street in Guelph.
People gather
for a boulevard transfiguration.
The artists move upon an asphalt stage
between parked cars,
no space too profane
to be transformed by beauty’s motion.
I am lost, and found, in ecstasy.
A single honk of a horn
interrupts the African beat.
Asynchronous and profane
this blast from another culture,
shatters my reverie.
The driver, fresh from football practice,
his body a bone-crushing instrument,
twitches with rage.
It’s Miller Time,
and Miller will not be interrupted by flakes and fakes,
writhing out their cryptic message
on this single-purpose venue made for cars.
Mary appears at his window,
speaking words of wisdom,
a plea for patience,
but he will not let it be.
Unable to advance,
refusing to back up (or down)
he takes his goal line stance.
Unmoved by sacred motion,
evolution meets its match.
Following the light
my attention floats
from the dancers,
to the man undone,
and on to the peace-maker,
knowing that such is the true dance of life:
Cultures approach,
then push away, circling each other,
touch briefly,
tectonic plates grind;
arms and legs
suggest tsunamis of fear.
Differing definitions
of the good, true, and beautiful,
buffered by heroic attempts
to span continents of discontent.
I am this dance.
I am the street dancer,
interpreting subtle emotions,
(allurements of a higher realm).
I am the football player,
flooded by a reptilian past.
I am the mediator,
choreographing a truce
between warring instincts —
to defend against the intruder,
and yet fly to the heart of the Holy.
This is evolution’s spiraling dance.
Sweeping us off our feet.
It takes the lead
wooing this warrior to retire his weapon
and surrender to awe,
(making all things possible).
I stand on a curb,
as witness,
to this whirling mystery within,
mirrored back to me on a city street.
And am surprised by love arising —
love for all of it,
for all of us.
The sun has not yet set.
It blankets and unites.
The dance goes on,
The dance always goes on
to the rhythm of love.
