The empty floating bowl
my mind -
the yellow moon
my tides -
I am drawing near
pulling away…
…
I choose a light voice
it comes when called
offering songs and poetry.
…
My silence contains shadows lurking within quiet crevices
praying for mercy between dreams
the struggle with solitude
caught and becoming the web
I linger, I justify, I succumb to fear.
…
Who succumbs?
It’s the ego who fights
Words eventually tire
Creation gets dull and offers no inspiration…
…
Stripped naked, turning to the deathless glow
I see doors opening to my soul
at the place where my humble heart sits
a pause, a breath, and a shift.
…
As a child who knows only devotion and care
(even in her sleep)
We are that yellow moon floating there
on a pulsing sea cradled by mountains
chanting still with the Ancients.
