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Posts Tagged ‘oneness’

One Mysterious Weaving

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on July 16, 2022| 4 Comments »

on the brightest day
the shadows steep darker—
winging through them
on imperceptible wind
a white feather

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Three Months After His Death

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on November 29, 2021| 7 Comments »



Let’s say there’s a window
at the end of a long dark hall—
the more we walk toward it
the farther away it feels.
And then, let’s say, we stop
trying to get anywhere and meet
where we are. That is how
I found myself on the other side
of the window, released
into sky—blue sky, then tangerine
sky, then sky dusky pink.
That is how I found myself
talking with my son the way
we used to whenever he went
to camp—through the sky.
Only this time we didn’t talk.
We just were. Together.
I would say we were fused,
but more truly, perhaps, commingled,
as if our atoms were diffused enough
to commune. To know this
for a moment is to know it
forever—how it is that
there is no separation.
How it is that we are one.

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One

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 14, 2015| 3 Comments »

looking at falling leaves

until I forget I am a woman

looking at falling leaves

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Rumi Runs in the Imogene Pass Race

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on September 7, 2013| 4 Comments »

“Sir”, says the volunteer,
“you need to stay on the trail.”
But Rumi, running in blue Adidas
continues to find his way down
through the boulder field and cliffs.
“There is a moving palace that floats in the air,”
Rumi shouts back toward the road,
“with balconies and clear water
flowing through, infinity everywhere.”
The volunteer shouts after him.
“But sir, these cliffs aren’t safe!”
Rumi laughs. “The anger of police is willfulness.
Now see the invisible.”
The volunteer shouts,
“But the rules!”
And Rumi becomes
a field of open sunlight,
a field of open sunlight
in blue Adidas shoes.
He is a river moving.
The volunteer doesn’t
know what to do.
He turns to tell the woman
beside him about
the whole strange thing,
then thinks the better of it,
and pours another cup of Gatorade.

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One Reason I Like to Go Outside

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on October 18, 2012| 2 Comments »

In the field
the ache of brokenness
is less.
Everything here
is broken.
Ground. Stems.
Sound.
I could bear
almost anything
I think
if I sit here long enough
alone
in tall dry grass
with the sun
slung low
and still warm
enough,
the wind
stirring the air
and carrying
my thoughts
some other where
till all that is left
is sky mind
and sky
a field
a winging shadow
passing through
my shadow.

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Not Even a Slip of Moon

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on July 10, 2012| 4 Comments »

Sometimes the night
comes with a quiet,
although the crickets
are riotous.
Although the machinery
in the distant field
makes eddies in the dark.
Even the stars
are ohming in octaves
eight scales below
what the human ear hears
and still, there is this quiet.
I was so busy praising light
that I missed how the dark
will tenderly, slowly, with no song
open the heart. Like tonight.
How first it drains the blush
from the peaches. Then steals
the deep green from the pines,
the red from the rock walls,
the mud brown from the water,
the violet orchids that nearly
bloomed in my thoughts,
until all is gray, then grayer,
then pitch. The pine,
the wall, the water and the woman
all lose their individual shapes
and become one vast dark.
This too is a way to love.

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Postcard to Emily

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on October 30, 2011| 1 Comment »

How the old mountains drip with sunset
—Emily Dickinson

Dear Emily,

It was just as you said, tonight,
the San Juans rose and blue,
and in the shallow reservoir,
the herons dripping, too—
I did not mean to startle them
as grayly there they stood,
but on hushed feet I stepped myself
into solitude.
Wing after wing they rowed themselves
into the muted dome
till all went dim—oh dark abyss!—
and we were held as one.

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