Sitting quietly out front with tea.
Giving - not paying - attention.
A breeze comes through the pine trees.
Bronze needles sift down and settle in grass.
One thinks of brooks a mile or more away.
And rivers, which lead to deeper rivers, which lead to the sea.
It is not that we are connected but that we are one.
The space between where I sit and the cardinal browses for seed is not separate from me and the cardinal.
Clouds pass, so many shades of gray.
They move quickly, like schools of fish.
And the grackles now are gathering into flocks.
Hungers of all kind drive us.
When we make contact with one form - and give it sustained attention - it is undone for us.
Inquire: what is it that operates in all space and for all time and always for our benefit?
For what passes does not really pass.
And letting go is really a recognition that there is nothing to hold.
The cardinal finds its seed and satiated flutters away.
Yesterday a moth struggled to escape the lake's drag.
We are like that.
And not like that too sometimes.
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