Intersection of Paths
Where am I?
Above I hear the songs of birds.
At my left, the chattering of chipmunks.
The trees hang down, the sky's beaded curtain.
Leaf and cloud and clear blue sky;
My canopy, shading me from life's harsh heat.
The sun peeks down, illuminates my page.
It is my lamp, illuminating life's dark spaces.
My fallen chair is solid. It promises to hold my weight, made heavy by life's burdens.
The ground beneath my feet, a carpet made of leaf and acorn and soft earth, roots me firmly, even as it no longer roots my seat.
Behind me is a road, cleared for human travel.
Below is another, worn smoother still by the passing of many feet.
These roads do not divide my tent. They are not hard, they are not foreign.
They are a part of this place: as birds flit from tree to tree and squirrels scurry from hole to hole, so, too, do people pass on by. All of us animals, all along our own path together.
Meditation
My head is pounding.
My neck is tense.
My shoulders taut.
My legs moving.
I must find the place.
Where it is, I do not know.
What's it look like? I am blind.
I'll know it by its feel
I'll see the sounds
and hear the light
Here I am.
Eyes close, darkness comes.
Where is my lamp? What has become of my canopy? Are the curtains drawn?
It comes now, deep and slow; in and out.
My legs have stilled, shoulders relaxed, neck loose, head calm.
The black surrounds me, cool and gentle; a soothing balm.
The birds lead me, the squirrels guide my feet.
I embrace the dark, and it is loving and kind.
