Perception

I have taken leave of my senses,
left the old to receive the new.

Through the mountain I know
the truth of things,
their steady, unshakable,
immovable essence.

Through the river I know
the flow of life,
how one drop connects to another,
and all flow to the sea.

Through the fire I know
the mutability of matter,
flicker to flame, inferno to ember,
substance to smoke.

Through the wind I know
the breath of the world,
an expanding awareness throughout
the infinite sky.

Through the moon I know
my place in creation,
what I orbit, what I reflect,
what I draw to myself, and push away.

Through my sixth sense, the Sun, I know
the Light that shines in all beings.

Permeability

“[Poetry] makes us permeable.”
—Jane Hirshfield, interview, March 20, 2015

The more I sit still, the more I become
aware of how still it is impossible to sit.
My outer motions yield to a silent thrum
of atoms, each one spinning, embracing its
Einsteinian truth: energy subtler than air,
vibrating back and forth, into the space
occupied by the atoms of the chair
I sit in, such a rapid interlacing
that I can no longer tell where I end
and it begins, both of us melting into
atmospheric spheres of atoms, blending,
expanding, and I find myself sky-skinned,
Earth-footed, galaxy-eyed, exquisite—
a single cell throughout the infinite.

Return

It’s too cold for April. The honey, seeking its warmer origins,
is crystallizing, reforming structured memories of honeycombs.
I, too, immobilize and turn inward, towards eternal Summer.
When the jar begins to buzz, I know it will soon be full of flowers.

A Turtle Sonnet

The turtle in his shell is not afraid.
Although he seems to hide and shrink from sight,
his mind is open wide. This little monk
in solitary cell, his consciousness
a spacious citadel, would never say
that he had been denied anything, but
rather, the world inside is one, he finds,
that shines, expands and swells—no longer slow
he runs like a gazelle, and over countless
rich kingdoms he presides, while, silently,
he sits at his bedside, until his breath
resumes, and breaks the spell. He rises now,
and stretches, opens shining eyes and then—
comes forth, renewed, to greet the world again.

When I Sit Down and Close My Eyes

When I sit down and close my eyes
in hopes of meditating deep,
I often find, to my surprise,
that suddenly I fall asleep.

I focus now, with all my might,
when I sit down and close my eyes.
My stomach thinks “that can’t be right!”
and queues up thoughts of apple pies.

And so go more attempts and tries:
distracted, itchy, or so-so.
When I sit down and close my eyes,
it doesn’t always seem to flow.

But still I hope and persevere,
and long to soar in heavenly skies.
And sometimes I can see them clear,
when I sit down and close my eyes.

Thursday Night Triolet

When all the world is all a-spinning,
Just sit down and meditate,
Then in a trice you’ll soon be grinning,
As all the world calms its spinning.
So if your sense of hope is thinning,
And joy you would facilitate,
Then though the world is all a-spinning,
Just sit down and meditate.