By the window, It looks like any other day, a particularly beautiful one, sun shining, clear blue sky, the snow and ice succumbing to winter’s end. It is quiet, a silence heralding, to me, a feeling of peace that is hard to ignore, or to thwart with logic, with what I now know. By the window, it is just I, the observer of life being itself, of steady spruces offering comfort, of geese flying home, of hand built wooden furniture meant to weather the seasons and the years. Then the thoughts trickle in, and the freedom of this moment, this clear moment of witness of all that his holy and right with this world, threatens to become a cage for fears and doubt, which, like the fertile earth one window away from me, know well how to grow. Before this can happen, I turn to look at the flowers we have been nurturing inside these coldest months of the year, at the scarlet petals blushing with life that do not sway with the times, and settle on finding eternity here, so that I can turn my gaze outside, and see that eternity cannot depart. The geese know it, in their homeward movement, and if we can sit within the stillness of a new day beginning, despite, and even though, and gather every last beating heart into our own, we too can become the world, and in it find we are home.
What is the story
you have to tell,
what are the moments
of your life
carved onto your skin
Tall you stand,
a witness to our age,
how much of us
do you mirror,
as you try to give
all of yourself
to a world
that has forgotten you?
The tears, the stains,
the marks of time,
the sinewy curves,
impossible to be
replicated. Your beauty.
The shape of loss,
the presence of life
folding in, growing tall.
What of myself
Am I trying to find in you?
How much do you
have to do alone, now,
because you’ve been
severed at the root
from so many of your
brothers and sisters?
I see a topography,
an entire world
as I look at you,
but maybe I don’t need
to reach so far.
Maybe I just need
to close my eyes,
and wrap my arms around you,
or sit, my back
to your long body,
and feel this moment
that is sun and rain,
that is dawn and midnight,
our stake in this world,
that is always
both here and forever.
Your voice is my favorite sound.
In the silence, I find my searing pain
before it dissolves and all that remains
is the sweetest kind of love.
In the forest, our great earth’s quiet
is accompanied by beauty
that is almost too much to bear,
revealed in part through choral hymn:
the rustling leaves, the faintest bustle
of insects in their homes under rocks.
I am tired. I sit with my back
against a great grandfather tree
and can feel all his brothers and sisters
rush in together to replenish me
and the sound can almost be missed,
but it contains every wisdom
and the secrets belong to all of us.
It could be hours or days
that it takes for me to return to myself,
and connect to my heartbeat
that is part of the lullaby of the woods.
Then, when I am ready, I emerge,
and you are new through my softened eyes,
and you have never changed at all.
We clamor and desire and aspire,
and your voice is my favorite sound.
You already are; I already am.
And you didn’t have to achieve
anything at all, fulfill anyone’s
dreams or expectations of you.
That is not how sunshine works,
it does not work, or struggle to be
light enough, bright enough,
it does not carry the weight of all
of the world’s shadows on it.
Sunshine does not strive,
but comes into our sphere
already imbued with its own
perfection, and we know this;
we see how it rises, and falls,
and rises again, and we imagine
glee and ease, or pain depending on
how we have woken up today.
The sun does not apologize
as it dances with shadows
as dawn becomes day, then dusk,
without fueling them, or willing
them away, no, this is not
the way of the dance of connection;
they depend on each other,
and for this, we get our moments
in the dark, we get the balm
of shade, we get our sustenance
in this wondrous interplay,
and we never have to doubt
how shadows move, and change,
or how the sun, above, arcs too,
with the sole purpose of spreading
light, offering this solace
in the face of all shadows.
The sun has always done this,
does it still, our inspiration to bring
to each of our given moments.