Meditation
I sit in the shade of the oak tree,
watching deep water bathe
the river bank.
A ripple tickles the surface,
where a fish darts upward
to kiss the sky.
The middle of the river
gushes downstream
in its journey toward the sea.
Sun’s warmth and a cool breeze
nuzzle my cheeks. With eyes closed,
my look turns inward.
I gather myself to search
for stillness, forgiving
but not following the errant thoughts
that flit like minnows through
the depths of my mind, then come to rest,
when silence stills the waters.
Magic
Those who don’t believe in magic
will never find it. – Roald Dahl
Step out of your past
into the mystery of today
and you will find magic
at every new step.
Take a deep breath.
Open your eyes to what is
in front of you at this moment,
whether it be joy or sorrow,
it is still magic in its newness.
Believe in such a possibility
and you will be bathed
in now—all that has not
been before and will
never be again.
This is magic.
Here I Am Waiting Again
for a moment
in the future
to become the moment
now.
Aflutter in my abdomen,
a clench in my brain
afloat in conjectures—
what if,
will this really
be what I want?
A more mature
thought appears,
if I can listen
to its wisdom:
waiting does not
have to be
hovering in the
never now
of in between
for something
that is not yet.
To wait is
to ask myself
what is in front
of me in this
very moment—
to write this poem,
perhaps
to stroke the cat.
It’s a challenge
to be here where
each breath in and out
is an ever-potent reminder
that there is nothing
more important
than now.
Image: Cyanotypes of British Algae by Anna Atkins (1843)
