Morning Meditation This morning I was reminded of how beautiful a moment in life can be.
Dawn had not yet broken,
Yet birds sang their chirpy songs.
Do they sing for pleasure,
Or do they demand their betrothed bring them a worm?
So many voices balanced by there being so many worms.
Such an exquisite balance at play.
The trees sway,
Flutter and feather their many fingers at the steadily lightning sky.
Have you ever looked at the spaces between the tiny branches with a furtive side-eyed glance to catch a glimpse of the magic that hides there in plain sight?
If we but soften our gaze,
What things we can see in a dawning morning?
In what seems a blink of an eye,
The sky turns from inky dark blue to a light cloudy grey.
Not the kind of grey that illicit a moan.
A grey emboldened by a hues of pink,
Fire-flamed orange and dragon-scale red.
The rising of our sun.
If only once he decided,
No,
I will not rise today.
The terror of unknowing we would feel.
Yet as sure as twelve follows eleven,
The sun is there to faithfully greet us.
Is that level of devoted love worthy of our gratitude?
I sit in dark silence in appreciation of the wind.
No matter how still the outside may look,
There is always a dance at play.
Like us,
Although there is no us and them,
We sit seemingly still,
Yet there is a fury of ebb and flow within that never ceases.
For to cease means we truly know there is no us and them.
As the songs of the wind caress my ears,
I smile at the sheer confronting beauty of it all.
The pleasure and the pain,
The colours and the fragrant stench of radiant flowers in sodden wet mud.
Of how I can look upon the face of a grunting pig and see its place in the kaleidoscope of life,
Then in an instant smear applesauce over a delicious loin of pork.
Am I fickle?
Or does none of it make sense?
At times I slip quietly through the back door of my mind and rest in the magnificence of knowing for the briefest of a held breath.
Then a smile breaks upon my face as I pull back into the dance of unknowing in this quite wonderful place.
Yet each time I slip through that door,
I bring back a little piece of something.
Another piece of the jigsaw of my very own place in this world and this universe.
Of a connection between me and that tree who waves softly to capture my attention.
Do you know,
Tree?
Do you know?
