August 17, 2019


We are fevered by Time’s Insistence,


Playing us,

turning and

teasing us,

advising us,


Life put on hold.


Past rushes to Future.

Future is impatient 

Until the Past is



But still, around me are 

the white and yellow,

orange and blue 

of retreating flowers.


They will not wait for my poor reflections.

They bathe in sunlight now, indifferent to my 

vague and empty introspections.


They invite notice.

They shout for me to see.

They are not a winter postlude

but summer’s full force of glory, 

still active and alive.


All around faded wildflowers,

gathering all their spirit into seed-pods,

equally as beautiful when you see

not dullness and un-refinement 

but potential and stored excess.


They too invite watching 

and time to study.



Lies to the Present.

Distracted from being in-Time,

to the rhythm and pulse-beat of Life.


God of the Past, you have slipped away 

on the waters of what-was. God of the Future,

you beckon in the rickety rick-shaw way of

running us towards eternity, unknown, 

still waiting to be cracked open 

with Goodness.


But Now, in this moment 

is the outrageous pleasure,

the touch of magic, 

the restive clarity, 

the Abiding Presence.





to stop the work of being present,

to enter the moment, to open eyes

that are blind, to watch and wait,

to not judge, to participate 

in life’s calling, to live.


To stop the wheel of the universe. 

For moments, to be free of time’s

insistence, to enter into the world 

of Another.


To walk through that open door,

Time-traveler in time, allowing 

this vibrant, trembling,

and fragile moment


to lead.


From a new book I am contemplating. Thanks for reading!

And now, the real work / gift / pleasure of turning one's

attention to the present (not named that for nothing).


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