Tuesday, July 16, 2013


The new teacher approaches, so kindly that something rends inside me.

It is not me she wants - nor me she sees - and at last I am ready for that.

All afternoon on my knees peeling wallpaper off the bathroom walls.

All morning walking in the forest while the dog trots contentedly behind.

The bears come at 2 a.m. and are gone.

The stars shine for nobody in particular which at last is all I want.

She says to me, If you want God with all your heart, then the only book you need will be your heart.

I bow to the young sunflowers in the garden.

I polish the quartz in the garden.

She only turns to me when I ask, only teaches when I ask.

Slowly the many appetites of which I thought I was composed slip away.

Bee balm sways in the breeze and my fingers trail across the tops of the ferns.

One sees the bears all night without looking.

One sees the stars all night.

A corn husk, a rose petal and fox scat are the same.

She asks if I am ready now to surrender travel.

She tells me I am not a stranger.

In my dreams, many people come and go, a whole river of them searching.

She says: sit with me child, and I do.

I do.

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