Out along the line of trees
leaves riffle in the morning breeze
as the sun slowly rises
bringing heat to the valley.
A few clouds circle above
without the storm force of winter.
Cars flow down the avenue,
people intent on their drive to work;
more heat off the asphalt,
music plays, the white noise of news.
In the mix of the city,
ingredients added,
stirred up and baked
without sign of the baker.
I go within, past the sound
of garbage trucks and banging cans
to the solace of this world,
accompanied by breath
to the silent space that waits,
comforted while the world streams by,
the peace of the inner well
deep and cool and clear
in my empty cup.
I was thinking this week that “original sin” is man’s separation from nature, that the expulsion from the Garden of the old testament is a justification of that separation. It’s not Adam and Eve’s fault they can’t reconnect — there’s an angel with a flaming sword keeping them out, after all. But your poetry reminds us that reconnecting with the sacred earth is possible no matter what. What a gift. The earth speaks to us, even in the city hubub, if we care to listen.
Thank you.
Lloyd’s comment above reminded me what my teacher in Peru said when we were high in the Andes. He said, “You of the mono tradition of a father god above threw you out of the garden. Our spirits of nature welcome us and nurture us here in the earth. This is your opportunity to come back into the garden to our mother, the earth.” This is “the silence that waits.” as your poem expresses.
so many gorgeous images Don – the sound the breath the silent space the comforter the inner well the empty cup the world streams by
I go within …
to the solace of this world,
accompanied by breath
to the silent space that waits,
comforted while the world streams by,
the peace of the inner well
deep and cool and clear
in my empty cup.
Just lately, I’ve been enjoying noting the rhythms and rituals of life…get up, make coffee, feed the dogs, go outside to my raggedy back yard and sit, enfolded by trees and flowers. Birds come visiting…hummers dive bomb the feeders, Jays tell me dogs and I have invaded their space, doves eat seeds I’ve scattered over the lower yard, while squirrels chatter and run around the trees.
I’ve begun to think that my inside is also my outside.
Your poem reminds me that I can find music even the “white noise” of the news and the humming of the traffic when I go within to the silent space where the sounds of this world dance around in circles around the core that I AM. Thank you, Don. Your poetry is germane to the moment’s potential.
To fill my cup with garden ‘stories’, or with a ‘reality’ of leaves riffling in morning breezes of deep and cool and clear peace? — I know which I choose!
Ah, yes, my presence
of Heaven on Earth….with a bright light amidst the scuffles of the day.