To be certain there is a way of life that exists in the languid.
Nature never hurries and yet all gets done.
This is not a tapping into, this is not an extraction process , this is not mining of internal resources. This is a growing.
Sometimes I speak of resistance to myself, I notice and catch all the smallness of life, the small distinctions of this and of that. Sometimes I get annoyed way too fast, at life, way too fast at not getting what I want

time is gentle,
time is gentle,

Slowly there is a shifting, slowing down there is a moving sifting through I get the feeling, I’m becoming my own dreaming.
Here amongst the cavernous forum of my lie , the sky sings slowly moving shifting always gleaming, turning swiftly dancing slowing fruit is ripe I am my friend , I need the daring friend friend friend, there is something, moving so slowly resitance to my yearning chasam. I turn off now, I don’t have to take it all on though, even though I feel it’s mine, this is not our slighted journey, this is not our reasonable rhyme, for the darkening, for the lightness, and the color that arises when they meet, I am the child of our aunties and uncles.
give chance
make peace
with the wide open skies
of the southwest
and the land where your brother and sisters fled
and their blood seeped into the land
harboring their empty spirit until the time would come