it is the scene that comes to one
that opens its palms
like a child might open its own
in delight

the fingered-bamboo on slender arms
and the smooth waters flowing
like a sage’s long white hair;
and the rocks like pauses
and the terrain sliding, gliding down
not to be outdone by the river that flows –
it is the scene that comes to one
and one must come to it, and one observes…

one comes with no preconceptions
and without creed and theology
one leaves one’s history
and expectations and conditioning
and one sees what is before one…
to this one does not bring one’s opinions
and one’s past and emotions
and one’s beliefs and one’s dogma -
for to observe is to see, not to overlay
like laying carpets on mud
or marble tiles on the mansion floor…
one observes, one sees what is before one

and from this one does not take
opinions and memories and revelations
and dogma and emotions and similes and metaphors
…one observes, one sees…
…everything else is conditioning,
structure and formation…

She opened wide drawing me to look with hungry eyes

Stroking slowly her soft flesh with trembling and eager hands

Breathing slowly in her musty aromatic scent of ageless passion

My senses here now aroused by sight touch and smell  

How I long to devour her to know her words.

Sometimes your man passes away
Sometimes your man leaves you
Whatever the case may be
your children still need you

Its not an easy situation to handle
Its not an easy situation to face alone
Yet you and your children
can work together to make a home

You may wonder, "Why me God?"
You may wonder, "Bring me a lover.."
It may seem like a curse, but
its a miracle to be a single mother

I brushed my hand across what you said
then remembered
the exact moment I discovered
my favorite hiding place
where my heart could take deep breaths
and move away from the shadows
speaking as echoes across my mind.  
I could feel them move far, far away
from my beating heart
taking me to heights
where I could escape to a better place,
I thought I'd never find.

The deepest pain.....all the hurt I feel,
becomes trivial in this journey
where I define myself
and rises above my existence
here in the solitude
I find
within this hiding place.
Here, my heart becomes softly addicted
to leaving behind
the complications which cling
to the railings
of all my inspiration
when I attempt to write
the song of a nightingale
and every bad memory.........
erase.

Gentle water lord, of your traces;
Four seasons show in your graces:

Breezy spring, wafts, leaves so soon,
Lost loves, colours longing for white,
Light jewel.

Hottest summer, moves, in sleepy
Sun, all her ways soothed, running,
Milky days.

Autumn shakes of mellow webbing 
Leaf as you arrive, majesty's thief,
Gliding lithe.

Frozen winter, low, pure and pale,
Never demure, as your wings aloft,
Flake so fair.