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 should

This is a prelude to a new post coming tomorrow about the recognition of my loss of identity and others’ need for ‘the story’. Not Christian or Jew or Muslim Not Hindu Buddhist Sufi or Zen. Not any religion or cultural system. I am not from the East or the West. Not out of the ocean or up from the ground Not natural or ethereal. Not composed of elements at all. I do not exist am not an entity in this world or in the next. Did not descend

When I woke up this morning, I felt my body pulsing in a manner not entirely my own.  It’s not an unusual thing for me.  I always know I’m connected to you, he, she, that thing both within and without that connects us all.  It’s not unusual for me to feel another’s heartbeat alongside mine, feel another’s pain in my own body, know another’s joy in some quiet moments.  Today, though, the rythmn that moved in and around me developed a special meaning that I could not divine or