I sit and breathe
wishing peace, happiness, and freedom
for myself

I sit and breathe
slowly wishing out
to strangers, friends, enemies, and all beings
peace, happiness, and freedom

I sit and breathe
letting the metta grow
my heart expands just a little
as I sit here and now
with all my joys and sorrows

may I be at peace
may I be happy
may I be free from suffering

may you be at peace
may you be happy
may you be free from suffering

may all beings be at peace
may all beings be happy
may all beings be free from suffering

By the creek we sit dormant
Filling the empty spaces with sensational ornaments
Like a Christmas tree
We can be turned from plain
To extraordinary
All it takes is for you to sit and be still
So that one day
You can be the ruler of your world as well

I sit in the floor.
My knees hugging my chest.
Everything masked by a thick fog.
My body covered in a second skin.
My head held under,
My hair dripping,
My mind buzzing.

But all I hear is the sound...
The sound of rushing water.

Like a child's first steps, I begin to trust, rely and give in.
Later on there will be hard times; I will fall on the ground.
I'll become vulnerable and childlike,
and need the assurance of a helping hand.
We need those first steps,
while it's exciting and new,
before we are jaded and unwilling
And we sit down.

I can feel my heart beat deeper now.
The release of lust has left me bright and living.
My veins course with vibrant pulsations that
bring about a serene confidence in the
silence that I form around my dwelling.

What it is the traveler wishes
to see within me, is a vast
emptiness that will vanish when perceived.
Nothing special is the key,
thus every moment I am hidden.

Amongst the brush the sage can sit,
where no wind can blow,
and Mara is caught cold in snow;
The moment is beautiful, kept and slow.
Thus the answer to everything is the act of letting go.

As I sit and wait and wish,
For the girl I wish to sit,
And wait and wish and kiss with me,
I sit I wait and wish.

My foggy breath crawls up the inside of my throat
And lunges past my teeth
With a happy turbulence.
Spreading over the crest of the hill,
It graces the treeline with joy
And disappears deep into the forest.

Stags wander through it's remains,
In an absolute nobility
And earthly humility,
As they catch the sound of icy grass beneath my boots
Bounding far, like children who
Imagine creepy-crawlers biting at their feet.

My appearance scatters the sleepy branches
Of somber firs,
And new-born scotch;
Leaving them to dance and flirt
With the timeless frost, suspended in air
Lifted and churned by my foggy breath.

Resting against the mossy logs
Just beyond the treeline,
I watch brittle flakes fall
And blanket a gently robust field with crystal
That comes to a final rest and conclusion.
My day has gone to waste.