Your Small Gestures Matter

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Sometimes I think that if we had even
the smallest notion in our wily minds
that keep spinning the same old stories
for us day after day, year after year,
of how many other ways it can always be,
we would immediately look for this door.
We would stop thinking we have to make
the greatest journeys and grand gestures
to make the profound changes we seek.
Have you ever tried to smile through tears?
It feels at first like an alien invasion, strange,
unwanted, until the body responds in kind,
ignites from deep within, bearing lightness.
The smallest hand gesture, brilliantly new,
and suddenly we are carrying ourselves
as a different person, with a purpose,
perhaps, we didn’t know had been calling.
Have you ever seen cherry blossoms bloom?
Without ever leaving its one sacred place
In the world of cycles, seasons and Time,
it does the only thing it knows how to do,
but does it with all the effort of its being,
which is not effort at all, but fulfillment,
and for the briefest moment in our history,
because every single blossom did the same,
we have a tree that moments ago was bare,
and is now grander than any work of art,
and the blossoms have not arrived to stay,
but to live out their short symphony with grace,
and leave the tree stronger for their presence,
and leave a world that will never be the same.
 
– Tammy Takahashi
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Petals Fallen in Spring

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Petals fall lush to ground,
not yet dried or decayed,
unsullied by wind, sun, rain,
handfuls of spring snow
tethered still to this life,
where we train our eyes
on what comes before
the last, the spectre of this
dancing alongside our joy.
Beauty gathers everywhere
before we have a chance
to discriminate and fear,
pierces though every want
we might begin to have
for things to be different.
Imbibe before pleasure
divides into pain.
It is here in this space
that miracles are born,
that the ways of seeing,
ways of our sacred being,
outnumber anything
we could possibly know.

Tell Me Your Stories

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Tell me your spring stories
flourishing inside of you
after long ferment,
it has been quiet, hasn’t it,
but here we are, now,
every last piece of us
budding new under bright sun,
and not once did you leave
as everything else
stripped away, slowly,
and there was the agony
of standing by for the laying bare,
not once did your love wander,
did you seek too much,
and how this soothed me
in places sadness once grew.
The growth of things now rising,
framing us from earth to sky,
and maybe the stories
are not ripe just yet,
are still learning their worth.
Take my hand,
and I will hold yours,
and as we stay,
let us bear witness
to the wonders that will unfold.
 
– tammy takahashi

For a Short Time

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For a few days,
the cherry blossom trees
come alive in bloom,
decorating the world like snow,
as if in joyous collaboration
with the winter just passed,
as if to remind us of the continuity
embedded in all this change.
For a few days,
the senses are heightened,
the sky has opened
to give space for all that grows,
and the moon grows large and quiet,
illuminating the beauty
that wants to be seen,
touched, most of all, felt.
For a few days,
the gates to our perception fly open,
maybe slowly, if we are afraid,
and we can start with one blossom,
her fragile pink petals
delicately announcing herself,
giving everything she has
before falling to soft sweet earth.

– tammy takahashi

We are the Blossom

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Is there a revolution
in your mind?
Of course there is.
From yesterday to now,
thoughts and feelings
have travelled to the
sun, moon and back,
so imagine the days
before this, the years.
Oh, the way we fight
so hard to be
who we are,
to keep the pieces
whole and tethered,
to keep closed covers
on both ends of the story.
We are always
who we are.
The tree, from root to sky,
anchors the whole world
without questioning
the what of her.
The blossoms come out
to live in time
for just one week
before the rain brings
them to their lovely end,
and still they are
fiercely and only
what they are,
even as they resemble
themselves the least.
The light will hit them
a certain way,
threatening to change
everything we know,
and this looks a lot
like magic.
And this is the
revolution.
It is the stuff,
the same and
ever-changing
that weaves our lives
together, too.
May we always be
fully, wholly, wildly
what we are. – TS

This is the Love

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through the sagebrush,
love is there.
by the cherry blossoms,
love is there, too.
in the way you smile,
there is the love.
in how sun gives way to moon,
love is always there.
the moon, too, cedes to sun,
what is more loving than this?
as I allow for you,
and you allow for me,
love grows bigger still.
i must find it, this love
that is boundless and free,
that cannot only be talked about,
or desired until our blood grow cold.
to find love in one outgrowth of moss,
in one sparkling river downstream,
in a single act of courage and kindness,
this is what we have always been seeking.
this is what we take and build upon,
and this is our world of tomorrow. – TS