Poetic endeavors can be tricky. They can point to a deep reality or they can be like a tangle of vines obscuring the light. Here are some of my offerings.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Stop!
The loom is unattended. The thread rests upon the shelf. Just thread. No dust can settle here.
Sitting by my window on a Sunday afternoon, drinking tea. If I stopped trying to propel the universe forward, what would that look like? More and more things seem like zazen.
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