Posted in Uncategorized, tagged loss of separate self, perspective, self on March 10, 2020| 2 Comments »
And once again the invitation
to see beyond the self—
the way water knows itself
not only as river and lake
but also as fern, as cloud, as cat.
Forgive me for believing
I end with this skin, these ideas,
these imaginings. Sometimes
I forget to choose vastness,
forget to know the self
as cliff, as maitake, as crumb.
How is it I so often miss the invitation?
How is it I overlook that I
am lemon, asteroid, wren?
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Daylight savings, loss of separate self, time on March 8, 2020| 4 Comments »
And what did you do with your lost hour?
—Harry Teague
Well, I didn’t sleep, that’s for sure,
nor did I bake bread. Didn’t practice piano
or write a poem, skate ski or do sumo squats.
Neither did I throw javelins.
Nor fake my own death in a gruesome car accident,
nor steal modern art nor moon rocks nor whiskey.
I didn’t spelunk. Didn’t sink in a ship.
Didn’t crawl through the sewer.
Didn’t get a tattoo. Didn’t twerk.
Perhaps there was part of me
that did what I am always trying to do—
untether from time and lose all sense
of who I am and what I think and
what comes next and how it’s supposed to be—
yeah, I’d like to believe that for a lost hour
perhaps some part of me thrived and joined
with the universe so completely that it knew itself
as the dawn that comes when it comes.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged erosion, loss of separate self, poem, poetry, sand, transformation on June 27, 2019| 2 Comments »
And again the world tumbles me
and again I emerge smoother, softer,
less sharp, less whole. Someday I will be
less solid, less myself, more a part of everything,
more a grain of sand that knows itself as one of many, easily
moved by the current, until finally, I
am less sand, more sea.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged chamisa, loss of separate self, poem, poetry, rabbit brush on October 22, 2018| 2 Comments »
And all at once the field
turns white with froth
as yellow tubes
of chamisa blooms
are lost, their perfect
composition giving way
to lathered dross.
The soul takes note—
considers how all patterns
come to naught
before rebuilding.
Some part of us resists.
Some part can’t wait
to lose its shape
and weave itself into
the larger cloth.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged loss of separate self, poem, undoing, unseen forces, wind on May 22, 2013| 4 Comments »
What are the flags for?
I don’t know, but they flutter
frayed in the wind.
Perhaps our own undoing
is this beautiful.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged 84, light, loss of separate self, poems, poetry, radiance, unity on March 6, 2012| 4 Comments »
stepping
into the morning sun
oh and oh!
so sweet to be
reminded
my own light
so little
and not
even
mine