My greatest fear is that I will pass away before my time,
only to exist long into the future in a dank fog of worries
and drowsy superficialities that grudgingly hold down by the throat
all the joys that surge to live in me from beneath the sadnesses
that I talk, talk, talk at rather than gather myself to sit before
when they have need to speak to me enduringly
of what I have forgotten to feel.
the vignettes of our lives can be inconsequential facades or they can lift us to our most vibrant and authentic knowings…….
inquiry for today~ maybe our inner stories are surface noise above the calm and steadfast clarities……can you write the stories into softer layers?
The wind blows hard among the pines
Toward the beginning
Of an endless past.
Listen: you’ve heard everything.