A View

Desire is anticipatory happiness;
Dread is prophylactic unhappiness.
If I only stagger through rows of sheared feelings,
I am forever wedged between them and source,
between then and soon.

Keeping my head and heart down like some
stage actor whose thinks the performance is commendable.
Only to find that the audience has gone home.
Ghostly maybe's float transparently about,
Weaving their way through conversations
Held now.

Is there hope for the perennially serene?
When does serenity come from surfing,
and not swimming?
Oh, yes. Life has a way of
sinking the ship.
There is a level of truth that can only
come from diving straight down.
How can such a watery journey
Lead to such fire?!

A Warm Day

Warm weather sneaks in between crossed off days in  February.
There is delight in what slips in.
A beautiful walk in which thought daunts nothing.
A few wisps curl around the edges
Mostly here and there and 
the occasional smile from strangers.
Work is on the way,  I relax.


Two women say "what a beautiful house,
imagine living on the top floor"
"I used to live there," I say,
"And it was nice."
How strange they know the best room at once.
Delight all around. A new appreciation of 
simple coincidence.


A bird encountered boldly on a branch,
flies off when my steps come near.
The cat cripples a bird and plays with it before killing.
My birdseed is a neon sign for a cat buffet.
Me, ruffled, the cat pleased, and God pleased in any case.
Nature always wins.
The day unfolds without needing  my blessing.
It is enough. 

Sing

You think you are alone,
With no way home?
Just a small joke of the universe.
A thousand things in here and out there,
point to the way.

Birds sing the name.
A footfall brings it to the ground
Light brings it to your eye.
The wind on your skin.

Silly, peevish thoughts
Place you alone
on a pedestal of your own making!
You never left home.

Surrounded by wafting, nameless, beauty
that never, ever, subsides.
A trick of the tongue that alone is "al" "one."
The song sings itself!

Sing ~ song ~ you ~ alone ~ one  ~ God. What difference?
Laugh at your own thinking.

Seeking

Do I believe that one more book will set me free?

No. Well, yes, by habit alone.

Still, the mind is restive.

And wants to wander through other dreamers accords.

Step by step, each one reveals the Mystery.

Not mine.  Never so dramatically.

More like the drops of rain that tap sparsely

  after the storm has passed.

Drip - drip  - drip – you too might have a leaky unfolding.

The Visit

How differently the world looks from here to there.

While in a blur of wanting, questions, uncertainties,

Through a fog of smoky incense, or
Commercial pink lustrous quality harem tent air,

She prepares for her day.

Uncertain of the outcome, or maybe only when.

She washes, puts on make-up

Looks at her reflection and is, like a woman,

Pleased, not pleased, pleased.

With a slight sense of anticipation,

Though maybe I am making that up.

For Life, absolutely needs no plan.

Needs no mirror.

For she can not see beyond the dream.

She knows suspense, anticipation.

Hurry, then slow, then hurry.

Will she step into the fire?

No, she steps into fine shoes while thinking of the heat.

Life knows the puppet’s dance

Pranced by unseen strings.

The outcome certain or uncertain, depending on who is doing the looking.

She senses the primordial entrance looming ahead,

But pretends it’s not her time.

Conscious of all the flurry, yet always the unwavering Self.

The Universe dances with the particular.

Answers dance right after the questions.

Is it a game, or merely the wind flowing through the trees?

A short visit.  Then long years.

One day, she moves to melt the lover.

Embraced in perfect union.

She surrenders, but not without one last whisper of “no”

Which falters before the lips can form it.

Blown away like a mote of dust.

Distractions

Why should I deny myself the pleasure of your company?

Only because I am distracted by the ever shining promises

Of busy, worry, and compare.

Nothing is returned for all this exemplary effort.

Let that not stop the efforting!

First clean, then cook, and read.

Call, walk, watch and judge.

Turning, turning, turning.

The, quiet, quiet, lovingly returns

Not to me, of course.
But to itself.