I go to this spot every morning to sit and to walk
It’s the one place and the one time that I am able to remember everything that I have forgotten since the last time.
Today’s fiery orange, pearly blue-grey
Is yesterday’s wet cotton candy and military-steel.
The trees that seem burdened this morning
Yesterday stood tall and strong.
The cold dampness underfoot, soaking through my shoes and biting at my knuckles this morning
Where just a few hours ago my moss-covered rock was dry, leaves dancing around it in a warmer gentler breeze.
The same. But different.
In ways that these eyes and ears cannot see or hear.
So too the collection of concepts and preferences That I call me
Tender, gentle, precise, intuitive, delightful
Scared, confused, unkind and demanding
That which seems so solid begins to shift, and shimmer, slipping through my fingers, even as I try to grasp it and name it.
I laugh as I lean close enough to learn it all again.


Trusting the Path


Trusting the path
The vision of those who have walked it before me
And the company of those who continue to walk by my side
Remembering to come back
Into this body
Feeling the ache in this heart
The hot sting of tears on these cheeks
Knowing this is where wisdom awaits
In this now
Not in the now of hope and fear
With its dizzying spin of words and images
Flashing across the screen in my head.
But this now
This body
This breath
This heart
This tear
This now.