The more that falls away,
the more knit I am to things
before they speak; drawn into
the waters of silence. When I
listen carefully, I am drawn be-
low the words of those speaking,
into the current using them, as the
wind uses a reed to get animals to
stop chewing and widen their
eyes. I once followed sunset
into a purple marsh and
stepping on a fallen log,
the tangled brush tugged
the trees to sway. Hundreds
of cranes lifted and I was
undone. I am now devoted to
the lost step that brings
us into the open.
Let mystery have its place in you; do not be always turning up your whole soil with the plowshare of self-examination, but leave a little fallow corner in your heart ready for any seed the winds may bring, and reserve a nook of shadow for the passing bird; keep a place in your heart for the unexpected guests, an altar for an unknown God.
water & stones, feathers & shells, clay & petals, gold & lightning…..here, yes, here….all the beauty we can hold
Listening to night rain on a river
Ten thousand pearls clattering on a plate
I’ve listened all my long life
Not sure what I know.