Stillness...
From which all movement comes.
A sense of connectedness,
Deep in practice.
Not sleep...
But a sibling none the less.
Both a leaving,
A sense of going home.
To where we were before.
Where we ruturn.
Once our light passes the final veil.

Of all the thing's I wish

I wish that when the fogs rise
And I go out
that I hear
*the gentle tapping
of rain

I was born
On the land where i live
Quiet never heard
8 years past and letters had yet to speak
Always was i at least slightly fragmented
But who is to say
Can the fragmented speak of broken things?

So...
when i go out.
into that sweet surrender..
let me bring my light,
onto that dark road.

Sweet was the taste when the end came...
but bitter was the ending.
In a life filled with laughter and Joy,
in the end only the wind cackled back.

There was beauty in the morning with the light trickling through the windows.
Despite the faded paint and amidst the splintered wood,
the weary soul of an old forgotten home.
Lonely on the lee side; in the mountains shadow.
As my eyes touched its grains,
There was a lonely splendor to it.
Though it loved what it had been,
It could find contentment
in slowly
returning
to the earth