What is there beyond knowing that keeps calling to me? I can’t
turn in any direcion but it’s there. I don’t mean
the leaves’ grip and shine or even the thrush’s silk song, but the far-off
fires, for example, of the stars, heaven’s slowly turning
theater of light, or the wind playful with its breath;
or time that’s always rushing forward or standing still
in the same moment.
What I know I could put into a pack
as if it were bread and cheese, and carry it on one shoulder,
important and honorable, but SO small! While everything else continues, unexplained
How wonderful it is to follow a thought quietly
to its logical end. I have done this a few times.
But mostly I just stand in the dark field, in the middle of the world,
in and out.
Life so far doesn’t have any other name but breath & light, wind and rain.
If there’s a temple, I haven’t found it yet.
I simply go on drifting, in the heaven of the grass and the weeds.
~ The Divine Mary Oliver, Poet who inspires me