Life Likes Living

DSCF3401

If we can distill one single essence
from the wonders that surround us,
it might be this: that life likes living.
Let’s say it again: life likes living,
life perpetuates herself with ease,
grace, and unfiltered generosity.
The Earth is thirsty; there is rain.
Creatures are gasping; watch;
seedlings and shoots are growing.
The trees they become give us
our own capacity to be nourished,
offer shade when the fire sun,
doing what it does best, emits
the heat that sustains our time here.
The world is glowing, ever-creating,
you can see in in the tiniest things,
the small flower peeking through
the concrete we’ve laid in hopes
of asserting a semblance of control
where we never really had any,
for more than an uneasy little while.
Life likes living, and will persist
in this, an uncanny triumph as great
as our capacity to be and to imagine,
and of course they are the same.
Our imaginations, too, have no end,
they grow and are fed on the same
rich soil from which everything comes.
We are tendrils growing with the trees,
we are stars piercing through the night,
and it is only when we choose to be apart,
to regard nature’s beauty as though
we are not embedded right inside of it,
that we compromise its right to flourish
and the unbearable pain begins,
because we’ve forgotten life’s love of life.
May we remember the heart of us,
borne of earth’s blood, skyward bound,
and serve the life that we are with joy.
 
– Tammy Takahashi
Advertisements

Poem: Emergence

221

Emergence

The shrine of the tiny island forest

allows entry after hurtling gales of wind

onto the bridge, until the threshold is

crossed. The gods have been pacified by

our perseverance, and remark on our

long-awaited arrival, like they have been waiting.

Dried yellow leaves hang from the gate,

slick moss skirts along a log once reaching

for the low-hanging sky,

dewy but never cold.

I fall in the face of beauty every time.

I touch my forehead to Earth in reverence for its certainty.

The fall deepens, my thoughts absorbed

like they are the cherished secrets

I have hoped they’d become.

Every step, a new wondrous accounting

of the ground’s ever-presence.

Wild life thrusts upward through

the obstacles we have made.

They will not be appeased,

they do not need our comfort.

The flower unfolding, in scarlet bloom,

never asking why, the tree’s broad

leaves receiving.

I dream of a field where we can sit

and eat the light and drink the little river,

of sitting in the garden, where the sun fills

golden space.

Maybe it’s true, that they’ve been

waiting these long years,

and now we’ve come.

The loveliness of clouds, white and suspended.

This is what the view wants to say:

I am you.

Steam rising over rocks,

a life force carved by love,

carrying the magic
of emergence.