We are fevered by Time’s Insistence,
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
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
To walk through that open door,
Time-traveler in time, allowing
this vibrant, trembling,
and fragile moment
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).