Death is where I was born
personal development
in the eye of the storm
An acceptance
of what I can never change
an extended love
I offer preordained
I pray you die into my birth
Perhaps together we can save the Earth
Come together and put things right
Bring an end to the eternal night

Each day
The weight of a leaf

Falling
into a pile
we gather
up
at the end

Each leaf is 5 grams;
but the pile
weighs
hundreds of
pounds

No weight in our hand
Simply the feeling
Of crisp form

Its corners, ridges,
And variegation
of hues

Some days we conclude in prayer,
“Oh, thank God it’s over,”

Yet it counts,
this one leaf,
filling our bin of days

Experiencing
Ourselves,

One leaf at a time.

Wind in my face
                                   The Amihan
Squeeze of my buttocks to my soft chair
                           An airline chair
              A dog flowing through the meadow
    Was that my garden rooster
                                  Or is it another's?
      I wiggle my toes
           Outbreath; Air blowing
                                          Out my mouth
        Did Rizal meditate?
                          Fried chicken in my nose
         My nose is in that restaurant in Pampanga
              Did Jesus meditate?
        What is the purpose of a flower?
                                Is the scar on my leg my death?
Telescoping ache from my spine
                     Ticklish pressure in my bladder
                                   More wind; The Habagat
          In Tagaytay with friends. The white fog
              Am I being mindful now?
              Watch your breath!
                                My forearm is empty
                                          It doesn't exist
                                          It doesn't exist

I turned off the lights
    to remember
        things I ought to forget

As legs hang on rusty hinges
the strides of doorways
lesser long

wisdom crisps its palms 
up to the hearths of winter
on walks

Older finds joy 
watching little jelly movers
under the snowy leaves 
of autumn's fall

There is freedom 
in holding back;
experiencing exuberance
perched high in cedar
witnessing the now moments
of a uranian world
from a fifth dimensional view

Knowing that Love
sourced from the heart
affects the observed
just as true.

I stand in the kitchen
not really present
talking about baking potatoes
with my husband.

For a second
the girl who baked potatoes
in so many other people's kitchens
looks out of these woman's eyes
awed at the fact
that she can bake potatoes
in her own kitchen.

In that instant the woman
receives as a gift
the incredible pleasure
of baking potatoes
in her own kitchen,
and is grateful.