Leaving home, I step into the darkness.
Though I cannot see my destination,
gravity pulls me forward, faster and faster.
The ground is uneven and loose.
From the shadows, roots reach across the path,
ready to trip me.
In time, the rough ground gives way to flat stones,
laid by those who have walked this path before me.
Even still, the stones rock and teeter.
To one side, the canopy is pulled back,
and light illuminates the Way of Reality.
To the right are light and grassy open fields.
To the left, darkness, tangled vines and nature's decay.
The path splits the two, yet there is no division.
Just the Great Way.
In July I spent the month at Zen Mountain Monastery. Although I did not intend poetry as my art practice, some emerged. My accommodations were up a but from the main building and each day I began the walk down in just the slightest hint of dawn's light. In the evening, I made the trip back up in the dark. abandoned cabins, woods, clouds and clear skies played off of each other creating variable fields of black, soft light and a mysterious shifting shadows.
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