This ache for you deepens,

turning this body

into a cavern

of desire,

this heart a canyon

of longing.

you are more real
than in any other landscape,
with the sand capturing
every movement, making
honesty a necessity,
preventing any attempts
at hiding from yourself
or anyone else, forcing
you to account for the facts
created by each step,
until the wind erases
the memory of you,
leaving you to create
your own version of truth
about who you have been.

Sitting in stillness,
on a rock, in a river,
I watched trees and
leaves let go of each
other, and wondered
whose decision it was,
if the leaf said, “I
must go,” or the tree
said, “You must go,”
or perhaps they didn’t
have to speak at all,
just knew, from that
deep well of knowing,
that it was time.

And as the leaves floated
through the air, arching
and spinning away
from the trees,
I felt peace sit down
next to me, and whisper
what I had forgotten.

“Should I leave this burning house of ceaseless thought
and taste the pure rain’s single truth falling upon my skin?”
–Izumi Shikibu

Leave? Yes! Run, flee,
burst out of the flames
into that cool, crisp rain
you can feel, feel, feel
without the fortress of your
thoughts blocking sensation.
And if thoughts arise while
you run, throw them like kindling
back into the flames, and don’t
even turn around to watch
the smoke curl into the night.
Just go, far away from the walls
of your mind, far from the ceaseless
thoughts that spin and distort
everything real, everything true,
eroding joy and wonder.
Toss away your need to know
and open into mystery,
letting this world astound
and delight you, tasting
the pure truth dripping
from each moment.

Hope sounds so nice,
so completely harmless,
such a sunny way
to deal with disappointment
and distract from pain.
What nobody tells you, though,
is how hope can really fuck
things up, how closely hope
is related to despair, how ‘trust’
is a much better alternative
because there is no letting go
with hope, only clinging
to a narrow ledge that reality
can and will crumble,
leaving you bruised
and empty handed.
But with trust,
you empty your hands
at the beginning, freeing them
to reach out and touch
any and all possibilities
reality sends your way.

Each morning wrap your laughter and enthusiasm,
your patience, and the kindest words you know
into packages you can dispense all day long.
Open your heart as wide as it will stretch,
then give without holding anything back,
not trying to save some for later
or for someone more important.
Pour all of yourself into every moment,
each encounter, trusting that somehow
due to some cosmic accounting practice
you will still have more than enough
at the end of the day.

Despite walking past it every day,
tonight is the first time I notice
the seven-foot tall sunflower
with its legions of flowers swirling
like satellites in every direction,
in my neighbor’s garden.

Suddenly I remember
tender seedlings I planted
somewhere deep inside of me
at the beginning of the summer,
and I am amazed to discover
a sturdy stalk growing
from my center, its leaves and stems
bursting out from under my clothes,
and all those soul-cracking moments
that dropped me to my knees
as I uncovered more truth
must have been the flowers
bursting into bloom.

about the plant
sitting in my windowsill,
packed into its little clay pot,
getting water from the tap
whenever I happen to notice
its leaves starting to droop,
I wonder if it experiences
yearning on days like today
as the rain in its full
all-day drenching delight
soaks everything outside.

Maybe there is nothing beyond
the four walls of today,
or maybe there is everything.
Either way, you will find neither
right now.

Trudging through the woods,
heavy with loss, clumsy with grief,
lugging my sadness up the trail,
the forest reminds me how full
my heart has been, how much joy
it has held, how well it has loved,
how wide it has opened,
and I move forward,
light with understanding,
graceful with gratitude.