Rhythm
is a series of sounds,
Separated by silence.

Without silence,
all sound would run together,
into a soup of chaos,
lacking form
or pattern.

Without silence,
there would be no music
to enliven us
and soothe us.

Without emptiness,
we would have no canvas
to create on.

There are two approaches
to viewing our human experience:
how foolishly we deal with the challenges of life,
or how difficult and painful it is to face change.

If we could see these as the same,
perhaps we could appreciate
life’s true complexity,
with a bit less judgement,
and a bit more compassion.

There was a woman on the train
who swatted out at me
like an angry sibling,
scolding me for my largeness,
as I relaxed in the space around me.

Why did I sprawl in the available space,
my shoulder bag beside me,
my elbow jutting over the seat behind me,
when I could have shrunken myself,
as it might behoove us,
the civilized subway riders of the city,
to do?

Why did I not shrink at her reproach,
shamed at my transgression
of the rule she lived by?

Is it my sense of freedom,
my feeling of belonging,
that I also share the right to be here,
that, if I respect the needs of others,
I can include my own needs and comfort
as well?

Is there not room for all of us,
when we jettison our judgements,
release the myth of competition,
and share the world we built around us
as the gift it is?

The story of Jesus,
profound and beautiful,
has been an inspiration
to countless souls
across the millennia.

If, perhaps,
it is not the literal truth,
certainly it can teach us
our true potential,
the promise of finding the god
within us all.

And surely
all the stories
of all of our prophets,
in all of our history,
all of our cultures,
have pointed to this same place,
where God is hiding,
waiting to be found,
ready to be found
in everything.

It is not the news
of what actually happens
which weighs us down.

It is the endless commentary,
reactions and opinions,
ad infinitum,
which overwhelm us,
feeding our fear,
our anger and despair.

In the light of reason,
we can manage in this world.

In the lens of media,
we are near to burning up
in its intensity.

I am losing my mind,
day by day,
layer by layer,
as thoughts peel away.

One thought at a time,
in the light of day,
grows light as a feather,
and does not stay.

As it floats downstream
in the slightest breeze,
I am left empty,
my spirit at ease.

There was a time
when we stood proud and secure,
certain in our rightness.

We floated in a bubble of invulnerability,
isolated from the perils of the world.

Until our luck ran out,
and our fantasies were punctured.

And how have we coped,
these long years,
with this hard-won knowledge,
that we do not live in the world
that we think we made?

For many,
it has been a journey
of deeper denial.

For others,
it was an awakening,
brutal but necessary.

For the willing,
it is a lesson in uncertainty,
a prod to find the middle way
between hope and despair.

And all these years later,
if we have not lost our dreams,
perhaps, in the light of day,
they have been transmuted.

As we relinquish our fantasies
of our world as we think it is,
or as it should be,
there is a path that opens.

Perhaps, as we accept what is,
we can move on,
sobered by our seeing,
inspired by our vision
of what it could be,
and what we can do,
if we are willing to change it.

When I am HERE
I don’t know
how old I am.
When I am HERE
I don’t know
what I’ve done.

When I’m HERE
I don’t know
what I should be doing.
When I’m HERE
I don’t know
what I should say.

When I’m HERE
there is only
empty space before me,
right here,
where I am,
inviting me on.

What can the mind do
when it isn’t thinking?

It can throw open
the shutters of the world,
drinking in its sights,
its sounds and feelings,
breathing in its energy,
luxuriating in the richness
of each moment.

It is either the narrator
of its own story,
aggrieved or triumphant,
or it is the grateful witness
of this world’s bounty.