I am sorry for what we have done to you
I mourn the loss of your short lives, nullified for our barbaric arrogance and gluttony
Your children taken to meet the same fate as you
Your bodies eviscerated, never knowing the hand of compassion or a ray of sunshine

There are no merciful abattoirs

No red barn with it's open doors, and no motherly blue sky

There is only brutal indifference

Mechanized slaughter

The lies we tell our children and ourselves will breed this hell on earth into our legacy
And we who see ourselves distinct from beasts prove with our actions otherwise

This is not food

This is war on the sanctity of being

With the first glow warming your trees, I hear your voices.

Calling out to any who would listen, staking your claims.

This is mine, for now.

Your reign is ephemeral by nature, but that could never stop me from loving you.

Not to net or grasp, but to admire your beauty without custody.

Your songs are my bells of mindfulness.

I welcome you with all of my heart, and hope to hear you again.

Coming into this world with nothing, save for the benefactors who receive us

Slowly multiplying in an amalgamation of felt experience and ancient conditioning

Do we know the proliferation of thought?

A gradual awakening unfolds, with no beginning or end

Bowing deeply, invited by the sound of a distant bell.

Sitting with the masters, or staring at the wall.

This silent illumination reveals equanimity in bedlam.

What is this?

It is not perfect, but we are in the business of efforts.

Softening the shell of our perceptions.

We begin with ourselves, a lofty proposition

Shifting this intention to the loves we have known, those who’ve shown us the way

We pass through gates of uncertainty and benevolence, arriving to meet the ones cast from our heart

Now sharing with all who surround us, and in the end all sentient beings in existence

With a fierce heart, your ever well-wishers

May you know boundless love

May you find relief of your burdens

May you break the chains

She seeks the thermal column.
Spiraling upward, realizing a panorama of her domain.
Perfect paradox, the effortless grace of flight and the harbinger of death.
She subsists on the rot of nature, continuation of the life cycle.
Untouchable of the firmament.