For the Living

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For life and for the living,
for the choices we make
on the side of life
that keep us cushioned
in earth’s warm embrace,
breath springing from breath,
heaving, mounting, rising,
majestic being coursing through us
when we feel it, and when we don’t,
and all we have to do
is know this to be true,
to bring our feet softly to ground,
feel life playing with our skin,
and we are gazing ever upward,
taking in with curious eyes
what the heart already knows,
as we begin our journey there.
 
– 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.

Make it So (for Life)

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Make it so,

the way an umbrella shelters

without removing the

experience of rain,

the way the flags flap

in the breeze,

giving away just a little bit

of their colour

with each passing moment,

so that we may pray

through and with them,

and it’s amazing

how long they hang on.

Make it so,

a full, bright, hope-filled

life. Take it all in.

Feel the breath

moving through you.

Know, too, that  the

fading of things

is also a reminder

of the fullest

expression of beauty,

at birth, in life,

and in the passing

of all things.

  • TT

 

 

Don’t Say My Name

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Don’t say my name,
see what else falls away,
which words drop off
the tongue in light
of this new consideration?
 
I think of the moon,
and the image changes,
the word alone
conjuring faraway
tapestries of night,
 
also forbidding, in their
very distance from
here. Why not place
faith, instead, in their
colourful inevitability,
 
should we do the work,
here and now, of filling
ourselves with the kind
of light that fills the
contours of tomorrow?
 
Why not remove the
name, the idea, as the
serpent sheds her skin,
the very sheath that
gave her a body, her
 
movement, knowing there
is more to come, knowing
that the movement itself,
which is life and love,
will take us there?
 
– TT

The Road

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There is never only one thing
left to do to say, we know this,
and yet, we might come to a
time when the roads we have
taken and that are still to come do
not glimmer with the possibility
they once did, or rather, this
light promises itself for another
day, another time. The roads
are not closed, but we find we
have diverged from them, or
have had them wrested from us,
and this is not only happenstance,
or only the choices we’ve made;
these are the conditions of life.
The roads weave through the
remembrances of our bare,
wild and roaming feet; the roads
call to us in the bell towers of
our dreams; they are the webbed
and interlacing tapestries of
our own ability to make sense of
how life is. We do not take
them to their storied endings;
we know better than that. We
hold them close, dot them with
sacred trees and mystical
encounters, and find our way
there. And know that there is no
road we will find together; and
no road we will ever take alone.
 
– TT

The Fragile Day of Being

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The stillness of the clouds
On this silver, dewy morning
Betray the truth I try to grasp,
That I won’t always be here,
We won’t always have the chance
To do what has been calling, persistent,
Pulling at our tender,
Yearning unstill hearts.
I fix my eyes on the clouds’ loose edges,
Willing them to change,
to blur into today’s new sky,
Or break away into new formations,
Remembering childhood mornings on the grass
When we’d look up at the tufts of white
And imagine a new, festive cosmos
Of our own making and desires.
This was when
We were going to grow old together,
When there was no thought of not forever.
My body has not turned on me yet,
My mind still arrows in all the directions,
My heart pulses wild with aches and hope.
Life presents itself through and in me
With a vitality I have everything
To be thankful for, and try to honour
With my whole being.
Yet you are not here,
And my understanding will
One day grow dim,
As I continue to dwell in fear
Of everything that will slip away,
Like the fishing boat vanishing downstream,
And the cloud, that, as I look anew,
Might never have existed at all.
 
– TS