A Sacred Place

Standing on soft sand,
the wind gently touching my skin,
I am totally free from society’s rules.

I feel the exhilaration of this freedom;
a feeling as old as time—or even before—
before laws were enacted and taboos made
to create human shame and misery.

I allow the sun to warm my body,
stretched out on dry white sand
and the usual crowd arrives
loud, boisterous, ready to do its thing
as is done on modern nude beaches..

I wonder: Why has this sacred place
become a market place for fools
in search of beer, pot and whatever else
lurks to satisfy what’s below the belt?
What happened to the quiet enjoyment
of these moments of physical freedom
and simple childlike contentment?

I wander to a remote point
to let soft waves wash over my body
and listen to their music.

It is here I must make a difficult choice:
Do I leave this place?
Do I stay and watch the Yahoos destroy it?
Or do I create my own sacred space
even here,
where no one but me can enter?

"Harp, Oregon" Photograph by Brian McNely