Cathedral by Bobby Lefebvre

On May 29, writer, artist and cultural activist Bobby Lefebvre took the stage outside the summit To deliver “The Cathedral”, an original poem written for the gathering in Denver that marked the second day outdoor day industry conferencewhich was before the weekend outdoor festival.

Lefebvre, who was Colorado’s poet laureate from 2019 to 2023, evoked wilderness as a place of beauty, belonging, humility, and renewal. He also asks us to consider what we lose when the convenience of “shining little worlds in our pockets” disconnects us from the living world.

For many in the room that morning, Lefebvre’s words became one of the most powerful moments of the summit. In response to numerous requests for the recitation of the poem, we are sharing it here in full, along with a video of her live performance.

the cathedral

By Bobby Lefebvre

The cathedral is calling again.
Its tower extends beyond sight.
Morning blue.
Black and burning with the stars by nightfall.

Its domed chambers rise into the hills and mountains.
Granite shoulders carrying melted snow and thunder.
Its stained glass is cast through aspen in October.
Through alpine lakes encapsulating the entire sky within its quivering surface.
Its choir moves through the pine needles.
Clicking dirt through bike chains.
Waking up before dawn through the tent flap.

The Church is alive.

It breathes fog through our valleys.
Pulls the rivers through the stones.
It spreads wild flowers all over the hills
Like confetti from the hands of an ancient god
Intoxicated with beauty.

Let’s go out.

The cathedral welcomes you before sunrise.
Waking up breaths are visible in the morning.
The headlamps are fading into the distance.
The shoes on the trail are crunching gravel.
the body is preparing itself
To enter something sacred.

And there you are.
My heart has already started rising.

The cathedral knows your name.
It recognizes the sound of your exhalation
Switchback after switchback.

Knows the metallic taste of altitude.
The salt is drying on your skin, turning it white.
Pain in your calves.
Blister formation under the heel.
exact moment exhaustion
Turns suffering into revelation.

It is waiting for you there.

On the edge of the ridge.
at the peak where the wind
put both hands on your face
like a blessing
And says:

“Look.
Look what is left.”

Let’s go out.

Because something has happened to us.
We have considered convenience as a way of life.
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To be held.

Our thumbs constantly move upward
While perfect sunsets disappear behind us.

and still
something ancient inside the body
Remember.

The smell of rain before it comes.
Language of fire.
Purity of cold water.
The way silence can repair a person
Faster than almost anything else.

Colorado is a Spanish word.
“The color red.”

Red like river silt.
Like fountain construction.
Like the beautiful bark of a ponderosa pine.

Long before trail maps,
pick up the ticket,
and branded wool,
original people of this land
Understand the mountain.

Knew it wasn’t just scenery.

It was relative.
Teacher.
Deity.
mirror.

And maybe that’s what we’re all looking for now.

Remembrance.

Because there,
The soul stands straight.
Fear intensifies in presence.
Fatigue opens up into clarity.
And surprise fills the body.

The cathedral was never built
For the audience.

Only participants; Relative.

for climbers
Wonders of fingers hanging from the sandstone walls.

for river guides
Detecting predation in whitewater.

for skier carving
In virgin snow.

for children
with sad hands,
dirty knees,
Entire galaxies were reflected in his eyes.

For entangled lovers
Inside the sleeping bag before sleeping.

For those trying to remember
his body is a beast
Still capable of surprising.

Let’s go out.

The Church never ends.

It is spread among forests and deserts,
Beaches and snow fields,
Through Adobe Villages
Breathing the piñon wood in the winter air.

There are no walls in the church.
No limit.
No gatekeeper.
No velvet rope separating people by pocketbooks.

it’s everyone’s
And no one else.

So get out.

Let the mountain humble you.
Let the river awaken something sleeping in your blood.
Let the weather rearrange your plans.
detail remind you
how small are you
And how miraculous that is.

Let the Church open you.
Let it fill your chest with the sky.
let your body teach you
The forgotten language of wonder.

because out there
beyond the noise,
beyond the immediate,
Beyond the shining little world we carry in our pockets,
Something big is waiting.

Something wild and sacred.
Something older than the Empire.
Older than algorithms.

the cathedral.

Its doors are open.
Its altar extends from horizon to horizon.
Its bells are ringing from the peaks.

Earth–
Incredibly,
Yet despite us,
At last we took it,
claimed,
Pretended to be mine-
Keeps us coming back.

So get out.

there is still time
To remember who and what we really are.