On Being

Copper bowl

rings once,

struck with wood

to hammer home to heart

everything that is YES.

The Muse is in the kitchen.

There too, quiet now,

the ringing bowl rests;

sleeping keeper

 of ordinary magic.

 The invitation is to dig down,

belly deep to the place

 of truth behind the navel

to hear the shimmering song,

reflecting Infinite Being.

And, poised outside my window

so full of herself,

 the corn moon rises and

the tides are called to dance.

 

August, 2000

 

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s