The Intense Pleasure of Small Things

The sound of the buttons
in the dryer.
The stillness in the
small hour of the night.
My brown fingers on the
black keys going tap. Tap. Tap.
One leg familiarly crossed over the other.
Tightly.
Lilting to the left.

Waiting at a red light, glancing up.
And seeing a flock of
migrating geese.
Flying high above me in the
night sky.

Standing on the bridge,
My feet firmly planted.
My hands folded.
Bird-song everywhere.
The rushing waterfall
of the expressway behind.
The sun on my left cheek.
I glimpse my breath
exhaled in a cold vapor
out of the corner of my eye.
The dog’s shadow,
My hand on the leash.
And through it all,
Something more suBtle,
Something with a silent B.

The sound of Luke’s guitar, throbbing.
The sound of the dog chewing
My indrawing breath.
The computer humming
Lamplight on orange stripes,
Warm and comforting.
Words appearing on the screen
From somewhere forming.
What mind writes this?
How pours it forth?
I know not what the next word will be
and yet, it appears with coherence.
Co-here, two here,
My yin and yang.
My belly is full of this.

I am conscious of the beginning
And at the end I am here again.
But the middle happens all
unbeknownst to me.

A child is born this way
Making love creates the seed
The child grows in the womb by itself
And the birth requires labor.

Uncross my legs.
Scoot closer.
Sit straight.
The mouse clicks.
I search my mind.
Nothing there.
Objects all around me
Quite meaningless.
Sunset!
Quick, walk the dog
Before the light disappears…..

I AM back.
A creature riffling thru the reeds.
The smell of greenness in the dusk.
The shrill sunset cry of a bird
Gravel crunching,
The dead tree silhouetted majestically
Against the pale red clouds fading into night.
A good sight.

The air so crisp today.
Even the sun is crystallized.
The frost on the bridge sparkles
Like a carpet of fairy dust.
Dazzling my every step.
Rabbit footprints etched on ice.

The cold air envelops my brain
Seizing every errant thought
A thought crystal for my contemplation.
Until finally I can stand it no more.
I turn off the light inside
And I simply feel the pebbles hard
Under the soles of my sturdy shoes.

I love you Life,
and I love you God.
Keep me aware of these essentials.

Benefits of a Low Place

I’m in a low place
From here I can’t see the big picture
But I can smell the dust in the air
And count the pennies on the floor
From here I don’t know anything
And that relieves me of planning ahead

It used to be scary for me to plunge so low.
I would immediately try to get out of the situation
By any means available to me
I would flutter around and bat my wings, hoping for lift-off
I would thrash my tail wildly back and forth
Hoping to agitate my way out of the mess
I would make decisions and intentions
Hoping the tension would incisively cut through my difficulty
But you know, my difficulty was very simple:
I didn’t like low places.
I judged them wrong.

And so every time life
Took me for a little dip,
I drowned in sorrow.

Now I don’t mind the low places.
I enjoy the view from here.
I can’t see over the horizon
But I can smell the wildflowers on the hillside

I feel happy that I can stop driving for a while
I can just let myself be led
And let life show me that the answers to my questions
are not all that urgent
And that I won’t lose anything that really belongs to me.

So I, a lover of truth, can truthfully say that
I am willing to lose those things that are born of illusion.
Even those illusions dearly beloved to me
And most difficult to give up.
Because the gap created in my being by this disillusionment
That gap, is small and dark and empty, a chasm
And it grows more empty, more hollow every day
And one day hollow turns holy
And holy turns whole.


So who am I to complain about

small
dark
places?