On these wild days

On these wild days -- so icy cold,

snow glowing on the distant mountain,

waves tearing at the edges of our beach --

the world's aflame, like some great burning bush

that's not consumed but ever shining forth;

some fathomless joy keeps surging into being

with each breath, hurling itself

against this darkened shore,

a fierce insistent promise of light.

Take a break to breathe

Stop! Rest! Take a load off your wings!

You've been so busy lately,

gathering sweetness for your hive of family and friends --

practice a little generosity for yourself as well.

Even one breath --

slow,

conscious,

attentive to the flow of love

from outside to within and back again --

(hold it, treasure it for just a moment)

can fuel your energy for the season ahead...

Come love, and set us free

Winter's come,
and now the leaves are off the trees,
we see that we are locked
in the same old patterns,
harnessing our energy
to win some pointless race
forgetting that winning
never sets us free.
It's always someone else
that walks off with that cup
while we are still fenced in --
or locked into a stall of our own creation...

Come light. Come hope, come love:
open the gate and set us free.

When hope is born anew

What will it take, as winter's solstice nears,

to lure the sun back into our lives,

to call the brown bear from his cave,

to find the courage in this looming dark

to dance, and sing, and play the lute

in confidence that spring and light

will visit us again?

A babe, a star, a cry in the night

and hope is born anew...

Celestial ecology

Whatever is, has been before; 

each taking inspiration from the past 

to breathe new life into the future:

this building, once the pattern of a tree, 

reflected in a pond,

this mountain, once a cloud;

this fish, the broken petal of a flower, 

torn by some harsh wind;

this paper once a bowl of rice --

nothing -- yet everything -- even the moon -- original, unique:

each element both dead and born again, 

inflamed with life and spirit, 

and true.

The arc of good intentions

Here, at the edge of being,

where I reach out for you and you for me,

who can say what is real,

and what are merely shadows and reflections?

Beneath the surface, something reaches back,

as eager to communicate its longing

as I am to communicate mine.

Together we become one overarching whole,

a wave, an arc of good intentions

that surges forward with each breath I take.

Anticipation

We wait all our lives

for that windfall to arrive --

for who and what and when we will become --

but all we ever really need to be or to know

is who and what we are in this moment, now.