Taking the Day

Without knowing it, I have been sleeping

with tiny branch ends and leaves in my hair,

a tumble of the best of me, and of world

working together to spin life from the dark.

 

Without knowing it, I have fused with the trees,

and we have both marked our passage in time,

though they gave me eternity, wisdom and patience,

and I, what I could of my fragile, fledgling heart.

 

Without knowing it, I have passed the seasons

watching momentous stillness, then rebirth

following with eyes wide open the cyclical rhythms

to their soft sweet end, the finest of beginnings.

 

Without knowing it, I have been taking the day

for the profound lessons each of them extends

and some seep into me like the sun through skin,

and most lay buried, seeds that too, will blossom.

 

– Tammy Takahashi

Breath of Life

 

Every breath can carry us

Around the world and back,

If that’s where we want to go.

The slow, languid inhale,

What possibilities! Filling space –

Moving light and hope

Through angular joints

And the softer folds

Of this universe our body.

Inviting friends to join us –

Anticipation, awe, curiosity.

Move with the breath,

Explore what you are made of.

At the very top of the breath,

A summit, a hovering cloud,

The full moon at midnight,

Floating, still nestled among us.

Allow for circulation;

Every part of you tethered

To the heart of your intention.

Breathe out, slow, sure,

Controlled by not controlling,

The breath does what it does,

It finds its way out.

It is a different world now,

That you are surrendering to,

That you are left with

Inside your sacred being.

You have let it all go.

You have given everything.

You’ve loved in. You’ve love out.

You’ve seen how love carries you.

 

Day and Night

It looks like emergence,

a movement from dark to light,

from a midnight moon’s lush wiles

to the redemptive break of day,

and you are sitting on soft sand,

not having slept at all,

and the salt brought in

by each sonorous, soothing wave

has cleansed you so that

you are no longer haunted,

and the sun has appeared,

a revelation each time,

to penetrate you with promise,

glee, anticipation for this life.

And so it is – life after death

every single morning,

an emergence, but not a line.

For we live in cycles,

and the darkness will come again,

to be, always, followed by light.

Do not run screaming

against the doors of night,

or fear the end of day.

The lessons of each are harrowing,

but the cycles are also moving,

round and round, in the direction

of our greatest making.

We, the Flower

A flower,

with no effort at all,

all day, and nothing else,

doing the work of

growing and rising,

coming into being,

listening to the very heart

of what moves us

to know when to open

her petals

and receive

golden sun,

when to curl inward

to take rest,

to enter a period

of receptivity and

healing.

This is the contemplation

of a flower,

her mechanism of hope,

her bearing witness

in rhythm and cycles,

her lesson,

each day,

in motion and stasis,

in sun and moon,

in the small deaths we make

in order to rise and

to live.

 

– TT

Shine Light on the World

Life floods itself with life

but this is no drowning;

life will not be submerged.

 

The abundance can be

so difficult to grasp,

the infinite regeneration,

 

The peeking out from

winter’s dusky deep,

when from quiet readying,

 

From having burrowed

far, far down in the

ground of reckoning,

 

A budding into where

time dwells, governed by

phases of sun and moon,

 

And here it is again,

the thresholds surpassed,

the bounty pouring forth,

 

And it is as large as

dense forest trees

tumbling onto the road,

 

As magnanimous as

a mountain range hosting

the play of serpentine clouds,

 

As redemptive as grass

growing through the concrete,

going on and on and on,

 

And it is as small as

a cosmos being born

in the heart of one flower

 

The sacred lotus teaching:

how from murky depths, we

can shine light on the world. – TS

Follow the Sun

Follow the Sun,

whose guidance

never wavers,

is not inflicted with

doubt or hesitation.

 

The days are strong,

our time for growth,

action and movement

that is spirited

and wild and free.

 

Follow the sun

and you will find

your way to the Moon,

where you can

rest, and listen.

 

Under moon’s soft eye,

let it all go, allow

her light to enter

your being, become

your inner light. – TS

The Forest of Bloom

The day could be glowing

with smiles full of sunshine

 

Or there could be rain

Falling in torrents, like tears

 

Maybe it has just snowed

Blanketing the earth for rest

 

There could be a soft breeze

That turns to gales in the night

 

Fierce so nothing feels sure

And ground itself has come loose

 

There is always the forest within

So we close our eyes and go

 

Maybe we come to the tree fearful

Or maybe ready for her healing

 

Maybe we look at her with longing

Or maybe we have truly arrived

 

And see: even as day grows dark

even as storms growl and uproot

 

Still the once-ripe leaves will fall,

Still the tree will bloom again. – TS

 

 

 

 

Bloom Again

On an ashen day downstream,

where the fallen leaves go,

gathering in a riot

of colour, and

thought-free,

and just free,

hint at the

nature of

time and

bloom-

again. – TS

The Moon Tree

There is a tree in the world

that brings the moon home

so we can sit that much closer

and peer into the nature of our passing

through the grand scope of eternity.

Imagine those who climb the tree,

tasked with removing the obstacles

to our vision and experience of

infinity, loops, and circularity,

with each clip taking us closer

to the grand narrative of

our origin and our trajectory,

so conjoined with the mission

to offer truth and contemplation

that, even from a place so near,

the view comes into being,

the shape of life emerges

so that we may all come to see. – TS

What Remains of Us.

Looking ahead

to where the field

is a freeze-frame

after the fire,

the sun persists

in the golden season

of the dried and crackling.

For now, I don’t

see past the

browned pastures

and the desert

I imagine

that lies beyond

for its lack of

what lives and

lives on.

But in my dreams,

where colours always matter,

the sun is rounding

the bend, gleaming amber,

being where it’s

always been,

for what of us

remains. – TS