How About Just For Now

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How about, just for now,
this one small moment,
nothing but this:
As far as I can see,
the world as a history of origins,
life coming into being,
and I dissolve right into
a time that predates me,
and the greens are readying
for the birds that will land for rest,
the sweet supple leaves plump and open,
and the sky, our shelter and window,
has not yet had to bear witness to the atrocities,
the trees are not yet scorched or felled.
But I do not have to travel in time
or let my imagination take over.
I can be braver.
I can stay.
I can let what is, is.
And I can look at my fear
until it turns into love.

– TT

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Here in You: A Poem

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It is always a
coming home,
a remembering,
the air whip thin
and sparkling
a sundance of
unfiltered joy
the crackling
under the feet
of a whole
cycle of life
preparing for
its journey
down, out,
through,
standing still
no matter
where you are
to find yourself
at the epicenter
of the language
of birdsong,
and you don’t
want to
decipher it
because
you realize
you already
understand.
You know you
are here
in you.
 
– TS

Love is Here

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When we remove the word,
what remains?
The word is love.
I walk on the forest floor
that will snake up a mountain
on steps made of stone;
the peak out of view.
The sun, too,
flickers in and out from
among the tall cedar tree tops,
glinting now and then
blinding as she does.
Becoming blinded, as I do.
My heart begins to race.
Go slow, I tell myself.
I know where love is not.
I stumble, my mind takes me
to all the places I’ve failed,
to all the things I have believed
I cannot do. Love is not
there either. I didn’t know
how much I had been
trying to find it, in how
many places. But here,
nearly overpowered, not
knowing how to get from
here to there,
I go inside of myself. I bring
it home. I breathe. I look down
and realize I can take
one step. A few steps
later, the small stones
turn into hearts. Not one
or two. I notice that a bed
of heart stones are guiding
me up the mountain. All
I had to do was know I
had exhausted all other options.
Stop running from myself.
And there she was. Love,
to guide me. – TS

All the Brilliant Things

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sometimes
i want to gather
the most exquisite patterns
the most transporting paintings
like a mural-sized piece of outsider art
I found once by a Japanese artist in Toronto
that put a lifetime of colour and emotion onto one plane
together with the books
that fold all the way through time
that i can only spread out in my imagination
and it is not a spreading out so much as
a tunneling through, an accordion expansion
so that i can traverse them as i would
a dense forest trail in which everything lives
and also every loved one
i would like to gather
all of this brilliance around me
like a pile of crisp autumn leaves
and I’d like to take a deep breath at dawn
and finally, finally understand what i have,
and say thank you for waiting, and dive right in. TS

Perfect Now

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Eyes shut until
you’re up close
and can smell
the musky fragrance
 
Of life that has
been through life,
that has breathed
in the shadows
 
And gasped for air
and also sung
from the tops
of mountains and
 
Remembered to
praise the sun
that washes it all
with fluid joy
 
Eyes open to
find it all, the history
and the smallest bits
full of perfect now. -TS

A Little Piece of Me

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her brow
beaded with
sweat,
tendrils of hair
clinging to her skin,
afraid to
look ahead,
her eyes fix
on the trail
of thistles, dried
pebbles and moss,
and she trips
anyway,
her mind
buzzing with
the crickets
and cawing
with the birds
confused about
coming or going,
which brings
her to the sea
and to her place
on the shore,
trembling on
loose sand
caged, somehow,
beneath all that
vast sky,
never certain
which of the
world’s horizons
to claim. – TS

The Forest of Bloom

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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