Towering spires and incense. Temple bells and dancing votive flames.
'Tis not the blessed or sacred space that is required for contemplation.
Clanking of rocking, swaying boat masts. Warm breath of grassy fields.
'Tis neither foreign nor familiar place that is required for meditation.
We need not panoply and religiosity, not even a stone labyrinth leafed in gold.
'Tis any new or worn journey or even standing still that induces reverie.
