In the hum drum and the toil
In the itch of daily life
As we each till our own soil
Carefully avoiding each others' strife
We go to and fro enjoying
The comfort of monotony
And take pride in our employing
The right of autonomy

We take little heed of shadows
And the artwork they display
Or the fluffiness of clouds
As they drift along their way
We forget to thank our knees
As we bend to take a seat
Or admire the flowing streams
In the hardwood beneath our feet

It takes substantial effort
To see the inches in the miles
But there's something striking in them
That I think you'll find worthwhile
Take notice of the details
Don't be blind to little things
When life feels all too big
Just practice noticing

I’m navigating a field of dark something-ness
Sitting quiet in morning air

In these cavities where my soul perceives life, I seek a heightened energy

Laying hidden behind wrinkled skin
tucked tightly into two beds of compact tissue
in this moment they rest purposefully as if sitting behind window curtains

They serve a common purpose when prompted,
To identify objects in this limiting dimensional plane.

Some days when I come here, I wander aimlessly across battle-torn countries of thought
It is essential to let the river take them
Watching them pass as an observer instead of the instigator
Feeling the depth of their sting grow distant

Sinking deeply into the dimension where we live beyond bodies

Where I am a bee pollinating the flower
I am the bird calling out in a resounding plea
I am the wind pushing through bamboo forests

Until breath inhaling and collapsing my cadaver becomes less of a grounding cord
And the mat placed beneath with intention is no longer a chain to the ground

There is now no face to inhabit,
The world; a faint memory of molding

Here the wind isn’t quite invisible
Temperature is not affected by her power
Bearing colors, intentions and tranquility

I let her carry me up and away

a deep slated plume
of hatred for those telling
me what not to do
such a mindful waste

I woke up in the back of a car filled with twilight
a forgotten song played pleasantly on the radio
and the mild moment under the quiet trees
stirred in me the knowledge of the enticing present
I lay there whole and happy
awaiting my family's return

If I am still
I can hear the birds
I can hear the house creaking
As it stretches towards the sun

If I am still
I can see the skin on my hands
The lines
And things they have achieved

If I am still
I can feel my heart beat
I can feel the air moving
On the tiny hairs
In my nose

If I am still
I can feel time slow down
I can look at myself from above
And see how wonderful
I am

I can see
How much wonder
There is