To know a window
for the light it allows,
to know a door for
the entry it allows...
orients the spirit in
this opalescent dream.
Dissolving elegantly
by being...a prophet,
a prophetess' attestation...
simply being.
Drifting through light
more expanded than day,
through dark more contracted
than night.
As if these are tempered by
spirit alone, a standstill...
a mercurial unearthing.
Presences out of Presence itself--
white steps, whited by white steps.
Unbearable scrutiny in the utmost
nakedness...unburdened to the
most beautiful non-judgement.
As if travail lingered just shy of
its ultimate resting point...white
steps, whited by white steps.
A familiarity so rending, the fore
of space bled true light...white steps.

Doesn't a root whistle
in memory of the wind
on its way down?
Knowing downwardness,
is upwardnes...in the
subtle song of its bed?

Inner strength
is no different
than light gathering
as a horizon.
A transcended line.

You sat on your
perfect tree limb...
near white out snow
falling.
You leaned
windward, alighting
your form.
One hand clapping...
you unified sight
and sound, then there
was Zen.

As this flame
meditates upon
self-erasure...
the rounded lip
of its glass enclosure
creates a teetering
butterfly shadow...
against the wall.

~To live, is to be
full of the world...
to die is to fill it.
Nothing holds water...
not even The Ocean~

The Garden Buddha
sits
between
the
Rosemary, Dahlia and Boronia
fragrances in the breeze

Welcoming Accepting
the sun, the rain,
the star lite night sky
fierce frozen mornings
the snow when it comes,
the spiders, the slugs, the mosquitoes, the flies

Garden Buddha
quarter smile
whether or not
I sit beside him,
Unattached to all he sees
a study in the 7 Dharmas.

The Garden Buddha
being is all he knows.

While I worry
about this and that
fearful thoughts in the days and nights
all attached
to
love and loss,
fears and triumphs
births and debts,
what people think
will poems trend
whether there is food on the table
whether work will extend
whether or not I am part of the latest fashion trend.

The Garden Buddha
doesn't care or not care
about any of those things
his eyes
never waver
they always look inside out
outside in.

The Garden Buddha
stone of course
his smile
never goes away.

In the end, though,
nature will always have the last say
I can accept it
or not
Be filled with longing
suffering or accepting

life on life's terms

The Garden Buddha
will be here
long after
my last
dying day.