Taking the Day

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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
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Day and Night

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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.

Nature, Our Teacher

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In time,
we will approach
more quietly,
see less of our own
busy movement
around the trees,
stop feeding our wayward thoughts,
stop circumventing the rivers
or wading upstream,
will instead patter softly
on the mossy forest floor,
still our restless hearts,
will bring the background forward,
see our origins
maybe for the first time,
find our teachers here.

Our Own Evolution

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There must be no
mystery, really, even to
The fathomless depths
Of the ocean that so beguile
(I remember once,
in a vision, descending
and not wanting to emerge),
or where the spiral
of a budding flower begins.
We might be looking for
Creatures of unknown origin,
Ghosts and mirages
Who have seen what
We have not,
Been where we have
Not dared to go,
For source and origin myths
That lift us even
In our quiet unease
Over all we may
Have almost forgotten,
Because we still
Want to dance there;
We have still not
Forgotten our most
Primal desires,
At the heart of which,
Our longing for
All of love’s
Various embraces,
Wrest us from life
As are living it,
Move us away from
Harsh contours to where
To where the flow
From one thing to the next
Reminds us that we, too,
Have this power to become
The unfolding of
Our own evolution.
-TS

I Belong

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Where does
the path begin
and where does it go?
Sometimes I feel
I’ve landed
right in the middle of
an ecosystem
with its very long history
I know nothing of,
and I fear
I’ll never catch up
or be able to
feel my way around,
that I don’t meet
the preconditions
for harmony.
I feel my senses
don’t serve me here,
do not point the way.
It is in the digging deep,
though, the excavating
of my own right
to a history,
that I will lay claim
to what must be
a simple, if profound feeling:
that I belong.
That I am here,
as you are here,
and we are each
finding our way
through the jungle of
our own ancestral histories,
reaching out
with hope and
good intentions,
with one essential,
sacred goal:
to be love.
 
– TS