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The calm is just out of reach,

But in the reaching I feel the unexpected warmth of the sun,

And hear the gentle lapping of the waves and the calling of the gulls,

And I am mesmerized by the glistening on the waves.

I grasp for calm and fail.

If only all my failures left me so satisfied.

When in doubt,
Always in doubt.
I have no doubt about that.
Words that can’t be expressed.
Inspiration that lingers
And the feeling of support
That holds on for
Infinity
Eternity
Alongside doubt,
Wonder, amazement, disregard.
The leaving of a friend with much left unsaid,
But so much said.
Carrying so much along the way,
Sometimes each other.
Not standing steadfast, but standing.
Standing amidst the falling timbers,
Standing strong.
Sometimes standing alone.

A testament.

The occasional lone tear trickles down my face,
landing on my black shirt and will stay invisible there,
with only me knowing its whereabouts.

Even if I don’t understand its roots.

It’s fallen in the middle of silent meditation,
And was preceded by no conscious thoughts whatsoever
As to why it’s chosen now to release.

The mystery is one I embrace.
Deep within me, beneath my layers of protection,
An emotional, a spiritual prisoner of pain needed its freedom.

I am content to merely have been treated to a drip
Of relief
And will allow myself to sit in silence

And hope for more sweet forgiveness.

The birds are out today
without looking at a calendar
and despite the freezing temperature
they know it is Spring
and their turn to
Sing.

This bird I am observing
is shivering
shaking all the more
given the force of wind
and
rears back his little neck
and thrusts forward
letting out his sweet shrill
from his frosted beak

And later I sit
for the first time since late fall
on my designated naturally formed rock pew
and stare at the sunlit water
as a cold breeze slaps my face
and close my eyes
to see a red background light behind my eyelids
and insist
that Spring is indeed here.

I simmer

I will simmer

I have simmered

I constantly have simmering sensations

I was burned 

and the wound was obvious

and was treated

and seemingly healed.

But the heat sent its energy

throughout my body.

Little delicate airpockets of combustion

waiting to get lit on.

My body is lukewarm,

but simmering,

awaiting but trying to avoid

that which will take it to a boil.

My starting point is never on off,

but always ready to heat up.

Meditation, love and friendships

act as cooling agents

and are welcome reliefs

from the body overheating

under the bright lights

or standing too close to the sun.

I love it when a shadow of a flying bird appears on the path in front of me

And I glance above

And see nothing at all there

And I am left to wonder,

Without fear or self-judgment,

if that was an

Hallucination or

A

Vision.

Samuel Beckett said, “You’re on Earth. There is no cure for that.”

Buddha said, “All life is suffering.”

John Lennon wrote, “All you need is love.” 

Paul Westerberg screamed, “We’ll inherit the Earth, but we don’t want it!”

And I get sick of the new method of just loving the people closest to us.

Even Jesus was quoted as saying. “The poor will always be with us.”

Of course he said a lot more positive things about love and compassion. 

But the futility is well established. 

We, who love anyway know that all WE need is love, but that our efforts have failed

and we continue to love.

Can’t stop.

Won’t stop.

Right up to our collective dying breaths.

And

we will fail

but it is all we know.

Sadness still visits me as I visit my special place.

But sadness brings different qualities here.

Gentleness

And exuding compassion.

Shining brightly,

Sadness loves me here.

I close my eyes
But not so that I don’t see the beauty in front of me
But so that I can intently hear the waves lapping onto the rocks
And feel the warm breeze on my face
And feel my own breath
So that when I open my eyes again
I will see the beauty more fully
And more clearly.

I heard the Redwinged Blackbird sing “conk-la-ree!”

So, I spun quickly around in direction to find the singer of this beautiful song.

But, alas, the bird was nowhere in sight.

Again

“conk-la-ree!” rang out again,

And I spun around in the opposite direction

Only to be left again with a missing branch.

And then again the sound and I, somewhat gracefully

I’d like to think, pirouetted in yet another attempt to spot the singer of the song.

It was only then that it occurred to me that I was actually dancing.

And it felt right.